Who's Got You?
by Ty3
Summary: Sam and Dean get their own little Lois Lane. Or is she more of a Chloe Sullivan...? Either way, the three of them are going to have to face something particularly nasty. Not a crossover. Not sappy romance either. Final chapters up.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize, not Dean (sigh), Sam, or that gorgeous car.

Rating: Not sure yet, but I'm going with K+ for now. May be upped to T in later chapters.

Reviews: Pretty please. I would love any comments you have, especially suggestions for where to go with the story. Outside impute makes everything better.

My poor, abused, little car takes yet another beating as I pull off the main road and into the unpaved and not even level parking lot of this podunk little bar. It's been a long drive and I'm tired and hungry, but before I can even think about finding a place to sleep, I have to get some information. And, in my experience, these little bars tend to be the best places to gather info. For one, people tend to collect here in little towns since there aren't many other places to be and two, people tend to be more inclined to talk when they're a little liquored up. Besides, this is the first place I've passed in the past couple miles that hasn't been a home or a farm or some combination of the two. So, I off-road a little to a parking spot, turn the car off and head inside.

The bar is kind of noisy and kind of full. The way bars in not so frequented areas always are. There's conversation and there's people, but it's not overwhelming at all. I'm noticed when I walk in, but mostly they just glance at me and return to their own little worlds. I'm a stranger, sure, but this happens to be a stop along the road. It's not like this is a complete backwater.

I kind of survey the room, trying to get the feel of this place so I can attempt to fit in and not draw any attention. You know, stay out of trouble as much as is possible. My eyes flicker over and almost immediately dismiss everyone in the room until I spot what must be the most attractive guy I've ever seen. He's sitting at a table with another pretty attractive guy, but he's definitely stolen the spotlight in my opinion.

"Holy hot hillbillies, batman." I mutter under my breath.

I find myself kind of frozen where I stand for a second as I stare openly at him. He's finishing off a beer while his companion types away at a laptop. My mind mentally comments on the oddity of someone using a laptop in a bar, but I'm too distracted to follow that thought through. Then, suddenly, I realize that I'm starting to attract attention again by standing here in the doorway, practically drooling over someone across the room. I start out of my daze and quickly head over to the bar where I take a seat. After a moment or two, the bartender sidles over.

"New in town?" he asks.

I try to gage about whether he's just being friendly or if he's being too friendly. Being on the road by myself has made me kind of paranoid like that. But, I remind myself not to jump to conclusions.

"Just passing through." I reply.

"What can I get you?" he cuts to the chase.

"Don't suppose you have something like a hard lemonade?" I venture.

He makes a disgusted face and shakes his head. I can almost see the veil of stereotype come over his vision. I've just gotten myself labeled as a prissy city-girl with no business out here. Oh, well. I don't like beer. I can't help that. I decide to try and redeem myself by ordering something more expensive than beer anyway.

"Why don't you get me something with vodka in it? Surprise me." I attempt.

He seems a little surprised by the complete turn-around in my order, but shrugs to himself and goes to make me my drink. I don't really care, anyway. I'm not here for the drinks.

I decide to risk a glance over my shoulder in the direction of the hot guy. Upon closer inspection, he doesn't seem like part of this crowd either. Neither does laptop boy. They must be traveling along the road, too. I wonder what would bring them out this way briefly before my mind wanders back to his body and the inappropriate things I'd like to do with it. I hardly notice the bartender putting my drink down on the bar, I'm so caught up in my own thoughts. It takes a pretty hard mental slap to get my brain off that track. Plus, the guy with the computer has gotten up and is walking in my direction. Quickly, I turn back towards my drink and pretend to be entirely focused upon it.

"Hey. Can we get another couple beers?" the guy asks as he leans against the bar right next to me.

The bartender complies, grabbing two more bottles and bringing them over.

"By the way, my brother and I are headed up to old Fort Tucker. You wouldn't know the best way to get there, would you?"

That gets my attention. They're headed to the same place that I am. That's a little too strange to be a coincidence considering Fort Tucker is a ghost town. And not one of the touristy ones, either, especially now after a few people have disappeared up there. I glance covertly up at the bartender over my drink to gage his reaction. He suddenly seems suspicious and I'm glad that I've overheard this conversation and haven't had to start it myself. He looks at the guy with narrowed eyes.

"No one goes up to Fort Tucker anymore. What do you boys want with that place?"

I can't stop myself from looking back out of the corner of my eye at this guy to see how he's going to handle this. Obviously, he wants information out of this guy and I can't imagine what his justification for it can be.

"We're just kind of curious. Heard some of the old ghost stories and thought maybe we'd check it out." he says with a shrug and an innocent smile.

He's pretty convincing, but I'm not entirely sure he's telling the truth.

"It's not a tourist spot." the bartender continues to frown, "Some kids disappeared up there."

"We know, but our dad is a developer for this big corporation. They'd like to build a new community out here. You know, if it's safe and all. Could bring a lot of new business to this area." he explains in a manner that seems suspiciously like a door-to-door salesman to me given that he's just completely changed his approach.

The bartender shakes his head, muttering about crazy corporate city-folk thinking that moving to the country will solve all their problems. I wonder briefly how stereotypically driven people can actually be, but then that comment is crowded out of my brain by the worry that he will refuse to answer.

"I'm actually looking for Fort Tucker, too." I butt in.

Both men turn their focus to me, the bartender looking even more suspicious, the young guy looking skeptical.

I decide to play up the poor, little girl angle with the bartender, "I work for this terrible researcher who's doing a report on ghost towns in rural America. He makes me do all the work, going out and taking pictures and all. He doesn't even think about what could happen if I should get lost out here all on my own."

"You wouldn't last a second up there in the woods by yourself." the bartender agrees, some sympathy creeping into his expression.

"Of course I wouldn't." I nod, "Luckily, a nice guy like you probably knows how I can get there safely, take a few notes, snap a few pictures and get back into town."

"Well…" he hesitates so I flash what I hope is a charming smile at him. He shakes his head, but continues talking, "You probably shouldn't go there at all, you know, but if you have to…stick to the highway for the next twenty miles…"

I nod, whipping out a pen from my bag and taking notes on a napkin as he gives directions up to the abandoned town. As soon as he's done, he retreats to the other end of the bar, as if to wipe his hands of us and our crazy plan to go up to a haunted community where kids have mysteriously vanished.

"You're really going to Fort Tucker?" the guy asks as I fold the napkin and stick it in my pocket.

"I wouldn't need directions if I wasn't." I reply.

He kind of laughs to himself and shakes his head, I'm not sure why. Maybe because he's actually met someone as crazy as he is. Anyway, he smiles and sticks his hand out.

"My name's Sam." he introduces himself.

I wonder briefly if I should give him my real name and decide against it, "Dana."

I shake his hand, my mind still buzzing about the implications of running into two other people heading to the same haunted site. One of whom happens to be the perfect candidate for my dream guy… I'm getting distracted again.

"Do you want to join us?" Sam asks, nodding towards said dream guy who, I notice, is watching us closely while trying to seem like he's not.

I know it's a bad idea given how distracting I find his brother, if they really are related like he told the bartender. I need to concentrate on my story. I promised my boss that this one would be a breakthrough, save the magazine and all. But, I can't resist the chance to see this guy closer up. It's just too tempting.

"Sure." I shrug like I don't really care and let Sam lead me over to the table.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize, not Dean (sigh), Sam, or that gorgeous car.

Rating: Not sure yet, but I'm going with K+ for now. May be upped to T in later chapters.

Reviews: Pretty please. I would love any comments you have, especially suggestions for where to go with the story. Outside impute makes everything better. Also, if you have an idea for the title, let me know.

What the hell is Sammy up to now? I ask him to get me a beer and directions to this ghost town and he comes back with a girl? If it were me, I'd understand, but this is Sam for Christ's sake. It's not like he knows how to have fun, how to relax, or how to hook up.

I try to signal to Sam not to bring her over when she's not looking, but Sam is completely oblivious. For a college boy, he's pretty dumb. Doesn't he know that I want to get this over with and get the hell out of Nowhere, USA, without entangling us in any further baggage? We have enough for god's sake.

"Dana, this is my brother Dean." Sam says, gesturing towards me.

"Hi." she says quietly, looking at me, then quickly looking away.

Great, she's one of those. One of those girls who immediately wants me (how can they resist, after all?), but is too unsure of herself to be upfront about it. I hate that. Okay, maybe not hate. Sometimes, I like it, when I'm in the right mood.

"Uh…Sam…" I begin.

"She's headed to Fort Tucker, too, Dean." Sam interrupts me in his excited voice as he actually pulls out a chair for her.

Sam and his chivalry. What a joke.

"Fort Tucker?" I question, glaring at Sam over her head since she's still avoiding looking at me. I continue levelly, hoping Sam will clue into the warning flags that should have sent up, "What a coincidence."

Apparently, I really need to have a talk with him because he shakes his head quickly at me, completely ignoring the fact that she could very well be here to kill us. Sammy must think she's genuine just because she's acting all embarrassed and cute. God, Sam, you're so naïve. When will you actually grow up, little brother?

"She works for a researcher." Sam says, his eyes bright with this look that reminds me of when he was little and came home from school one day, bursting at the seams to tell Dad and me about the new friends that he'd made, "Right, Dana?"

"Uh…yeah." she agrees, finally looking up at me.

Her face is a little red. She's still giving me all the signs of being infatuated with me, which is really driving me crazy. Normally I'd find this real amusing. In fact, normally I'd probably lead her on a bit and maybe take a quick spin with her in the back of a car or something. And damn if I don't want to but, unlike Sam, I'm not about to let my guard down when someone shows up and announces that they're headed to the same obscure location as we are. Especially not after the thing with Sam's chick, Meg. In fact, on the whole I'm getting pretty tired of chicks trying to kill us. Well, I may as well see if I can get to the bottom of this since Sammy is so determined to get us into trouble. That's what girls are really: trouble.

At least I'm good at dealing with trouble.

"What kind of researcher sends his assistant all the way out here?" I ask, turning on the charm while I interrogate her.

"The mean kind?" she offers almost sounding uncertain. I'm certain she's lying to me. But she suddenly seems to get some kind of hold on herself because she comes back with a question of her own, "What kind of developer wants to build in the middle of nowhere over a ghost town where kids disappear?"

"The crazy kind." Sam jumps in, giving her his "I'm too cute to lie" smile.

Apparently he's fed her some two-bit story about us working for someone who wants to build at Fort Tucker. I'd hoped that Sam could do better, but if that's what he told her, whatever. I quickly shoot him a look, telling him that he's responsible for his own bullshit. Normally, I'd jump in and help him out, but I tried to avoid this one by telling him not to bring her over and if Sammy doesn't want to listen to me, he's going to have to learn to dig himself out.

"Hey, since we have to go out there anyway, maybe we can get those pictures and stuff for you." Sam offers, trying to distract her.

She goes kind of stiff at the suggestion, which makes me even more suspicious. She immediately shakes her head.

"No, no, no. I have to go." she insists.

"Why's that?" I press, unable to resist pushing the issue, "It's just a couple pictures, right?"

She looks between me and Sam and I can see her mind racing in her eyes. Finally, she gets this fed-up look on her face and I sense that she's about to give up and tell us the truth.

"Okay, so I'm not a research assistant. I lied. I'm a reporter. I'm working on a story and I'm not about to let you guys scoop me, so forget it." she says, getting all defensive.

I can't help but laugh, "What? You think we're reporters?"

"Well, you're sure as hell not contractors or whatever." she snaps.

I feel myself stiffen a little at being caught in our own lie. I open my mouth to feed her a new one since Sam's shitty one fell through like I'd thought it would, when Sam once again butts in and blows it.

"We're ghost hunters. We got word about the town and the disappearances around here. We thought we could help." he confesses.

God, I hate it when Sam tells the truth. I shake my head and lean back away from the table, letting them know with my body language that I can't be held responsible for this anymore.

Her eyes are wide, "You have to let me go with you."

"No." I sit up again and lean forward. I keep on finding myself immediately going against what I've just decided, but I'm putting my foot down on this one, "No way."

"Come on. I'll put you in the article if you want. Full spread, I promise."

"Forget it." I insist.

"Or I can leave you out completely if that's your thing. Whatever you want." she continues, not even hearing my protests as she waves her hands expressively as she tries to convince us.

"Uh…no." I try again anyway.

"She's going to go anyway, Dean." Sam has to chip in.

She nods quickly in agreement. They both look at me expectantly. I hate it when Sam looks at me like that. It's this puppy dog look that makes me feel like I'm looking at an eight-year-old Sammy again, begging me to let him come with me to the movies or whatever.

"Ah, fuck no. Sam," I gesture for him to get up and join me a few feet away. I need the opportunity to turn my back on his expression, "get over here."

We step away from the table so I can yell at him and hopefully talk sense into him. I can't believe he's ganging up on me with a complete stranger. I wonder if I'm madder about what he's doing or that he's siding with her instead of me. I can't help but feel a little betrayed at that.

"What the hell are you thinking?" I demand in a hushed tone.

"What?" Sam asks, like he has no idea what an idiot he's being.

I can't believe he doesn't see the problem, "How the hell are we supposed to hunt things and keep track of Lois Lane at the same time?"

Sam looks thoughtful for a second, "I was thinking more Chloe Sullivan than Lois."

"Sam!" I snap, "She could get us both killed. Us and her."

Even though I'm not really too concerned about her trying to sabotage us on purpose anymore, she's still completely capable of sending this whole mission straight to hell.

"We've taken girls hunting with us before, Dean." Sam points out.

"Not on purpose." I argue, ignoring the fact that there have been times when I was responsible for bringing girls along. I quickly add before Sam can bring that fact up, "And not ones who can blow every cover story we've ever used and will use."

"She said she'd leave us out of it if we wanted. You're being paranoid." he argues, refusing to listen to reason.

I shake my head, unsure of what else I can say that will get through to him. He starts to smile, realizing he's winning this argument. I hate arguing with Sam. He just won't let things go no matter how stupid they are.

"Besides, she totally digs you." he says, with a big grin.

I ignore him, instead telling him "She is your responsibility since this is your stupid idea. You baby-sit."

With that I stomp back over to the table. I slam my hands down, satisfied when she jumps a little, and lean in towards her. Maybe if I can intimidate her a little, she'll give up this stupid idea about following us, about wanting to chase ghosts to make a name for herself, about liking me. And hopefully in that order because as long as she's not bothering us about joining us on a hunt, I wouldn't really mind spending some time with her on other activities.

"We're not interested in making a name for ourselves. We're not interested in any of that shit. This is our job and it's not a joke. Stay out of the way and do exactly what Sam or I tell you, when we tell you. Those are the conditions. Understand?"

She nods quickly, apparently happy to agree to any deal that involves her coming with us. I can already tell this is the worst idea Sammy has ever had. My gut is already screaming at me that nothing good can come of this. I down the rest of my beer and try to ignore it.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize, not Dean (sigh), Sam, or that gorgeous car.

Rating: Not sure yet, but I'm going with K+ for now. May be upped to T in later chapters.

Reviews: Pretty please. I would love any comments you have, especially suggestions for where to go with the story. Outside impute makes everything better. Also, if you have any ideas for a title, let me know.

I'm glad I talked Dean into this. He's been too brooding lately. He needs to lighten up before his head explodes. Besides, she seems like a nice girl. And a nice girl who we don't have to lie to. That's always cool because I'm really getting sick of all the lying. I have a good feeling about her.

I walk back over to Dana, smiling at her. She smiles back, gratefully and mouths the word "thanks."

"Sam." Dean says abruptly, "Let's get the hell out of here. We'll drive to Fort Tucker in the morning."

Dana quickly stands up, "Hey, where are you guys staying? I haven't found a place yet."

"There's a motel up the road." I tell her, "You want to follow us?"

Dean barely stifles a groan, making me shoot a glare back at him. He could at least be nice. I don't get him. He's either sweet-talking girls into sleeping with him or being a complete jerk. He can't just be civil. He's probably decided to try and tick her off to try and get rid of her. I hate that Dean always tries to do that. He always pushes everybody away and then complains that he doesn't have anybody but Dad and me. He doesn't see that he, not anything supernatural, is at least partly responsible for that.

"Sure." she agrees, ignoring Dean's rudeness.

"Alright, let's go." I grab my laptop and head for the door. I decide to try and excuse my brother, "Dean's got your drink."

"No, I…" she protests.

"Forget it." Dean says stiffly, marching over to the bar.

"Thanks." she says quietly, staring after him.

I feel kind of bad for her. She's obviously crushing on Dean and he's not exactly the relationship type. She's setting herself up for some heartbreak, but I don't feel like there's really anything I can do about it. I've seen it before in the towns we pass through. Dean always loves them and leaves them. He claims that he can't help it, that it comes with the territory, but I wonder sometimes if that's just an excuse. I wonder sometimes if he does it because he's really scared, scared to let anyone else get close to him, scared that they'll hurt him. And sometimes, when I think that this might be the case, I can't blame him because I'm afraid to get hurt again myself. After what happened to Mom, to Jessica…

"So, Dana…" I begin, trying to distract her and myself.

"It's not Dana." she interrupts.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"That's not my real name. I lied. Wasn't sure if I could trust you guys. Thought maybe you were trying to beat me to my story. My name's Lindy." she confesses.

I shake my head. She can be as bad as Dean when it comes to being paranoid, at least. I decide to shrug it off and keep things cool despite the fact that it bothers me that she lied about her name. Could she have lied about other things, as well? Well, even if she has, I still feel like she's a good person.

"Why Dana?" I ask.

She looks a little embarrassed, "Like Dana Scully."

I laugh. I have to admit, I like how she thinks.

"So, let me ask you this, what kind of music do you listen to?" I venture.

She shrugs again, "I'll listen to pretty much anything."

"Cool. Can I ride with you?" I ask. I love my brother, but sometimes you just can't pass up an opportunity like this to get away from him for a bit.

"Sure. That way you can tell me where to go."

Dean joins us and we head out the door. Rather than follow him as he heads for his precious Impala, I follow Lindy. Dean stops and looks back at me, confused.

"Dude, where are you going? Car's this way." he says, gesturing.

"I'm going to ride with Lindy." I tell him.

"Lindy?" Dean asks, looking at her now, suspicion back again.

"My real name." she admits sheepishly.

"Right." Dean says quickly like people using fake names doesn't even faze him anymore. And maybe it doesn't, "Just try to keep up, okay?"

With that he turns and heads off for his car. I stare at his back as he walks away, wondering if his quick dismissal means more than just what he actually said. I wonder, and not for the first time, what's going on inside my brother's head. Surprisingly, I hear something like a growl come out of the girl next to me and I turn to her to see her staring after my brother's retreating form, as well.

"Try to keep up? I'll show him keeping up." she mutters before spinning around and stomping off in the opposite direction.

I quickly hurry after her towards an indiscrete, little car in the corner of the lot. It's not much to look at compared to the Impala, but I don't really care a whole lot about cars anyway. Dean was always the one concerned with having the coolest car possible. Besides, she'll let me listen to something besides classic rock, which will be a nice change of pace.

"Hop in." she says as she unlocks the door and slides in the driver side.

I walk around to the passenger side as she reaches across and unlocks my door. She quickly tosses various articles into the back where a haphazard pile of possessions is already occupying most of the space to make room for me before I sit down. I carefully position my feet around the stuff still lying on the floor on my side as I make myself comfortable. I'm relieved to find a CD holder on the floor by my feet instead of a box of cassette tapes.

"Do you mind?" I ask as I reach down and pick it up.

"No, go ahead." she says, absently waving a hand in my direction.

She has both hands wrapped tightly around the wheel and is staring straight ahead. I look at her worriedly, wondering what's going through her mind when suddenly she turns the car on and throws it into reverse. The tires spin a little, kicking up tons of gravel before she pushes it into drive and hauls ass towards the main road.

"What the hell?" I exclaim as I quickly buckle my seatbelt, "What are you doing?"

"Proving to your brother that I'm not who he thinks I am." she says, curtly.

The Impala's right in front of us, just finishing pulling out onto the road. She barely slows as she swings the car around after it to follow him. We almost don't make the turn and I let the CD holder fly out of my lap, instead deciding to grab on to the car with both hands.

"Are you nuts?" I yell.

"Maybe." she allows as she swings into the oncoming traffic lane to speed past Dean.

I glance out my window, my eyes wide in panic as we pull up even with the Impala. I catch Dean's gaze for a second and we silently share a "what the hell is up with this crazy chick" moment, before she slams on the gas and cuts him off. I look over at her to see she has a satisfied smile on her face. I wonder what I've gotten us into with this lunatic, good feeling or no good feeling.

"So, how much further is this motel?" she asks casually.

I slowly calm down seeing as the high speed turns and swerving across lanes of traffic is apparently over. Slowly, I release my death grip on the car and take a deep breath.

"What the hell was that?" I ask as calmly as I can.

"I told you." she says, looking at me as if I'm a little slow, "I need to prove to Dean that I'm not some stupid girl who can't take care of herself. I need to show him that I belong here as much as you two do. And since I can't seem get any words out around him…"

"You thought you'd nearly kill us in the car?" I finish for her.

"Don't overreact, Sam. There weren't even any other cars on the road." she chides me.

I don't know what to say to that. My mouth just hangs open as I stare at her incredulously. She is a completely different girl from when she was around Dean. And apparently when she's not embarrassed, she's crazy. In fact, when Dean's not around she acts like the kind of girl Dean would really like. Weird.

"Is that the motel?" she asks, gesturing towards a rapidly approaching complex with a neon sign out front.

"Yeah." I nod.

She slows down and turns into the motel parking lot at a reasonable speed, almost as if she hadn't been driving like Jason Statham a moment before. We pull into a spot and wait for Dean who pulls in next to us a few moments later. Before getting out of the car, I turn to her and say, "Could you warn me the next time you're going to do that?"

"Sure thing, Sam." she says, offhand as she climbs out and shuts the door.

I shake my head at myself before following suit. Her casual response to me just now was so like my brother it's creepy. I'm going to have to talk to Dean about this. I still like the girl, I think, since my instincts about people haven't been wrong much before, but she's kind of... Huh, I'm not sure. Anyhow, tomorrow should be interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you very much for the reviews. They make my day. This chapter is a little short, but I hope you like it. There's a great bit at the end, I promise.

A/N 2: I'm still undecided about what I want to call this, so feel free to put in your two cents.

A/N 3: I'm thinking about adding a section where Sam admits to Dean that he likes to ride with Lindy just because she lets him listen to whatever he wants. Which leads me to the question, what kind of music _does_ Sam like? Any ideas? I was thinking about making him a John Mayer fan just for kicks, but I'm open to suggestions. Hell, I could make him love the Spice Girls. I have the power. Mwahahahaha!

I feel rather pleased with myself as I climb out of the car to meet Dean. I know it was childish and stupid to race him here, but I won, so it's all good. I even manage to grin at Dean when he looks at me over the hood of his Impala. Maybe some crazy driving is what I really needed to shake myself up and get me back to normal.

"What was that all about?" he asks.

I shrug dismissively, "Nothing."

He smiles a little and rolls his eyes, which makes me feel a little weak at the knees. Which makes me feel like an idiot. Just because my little stunt has gotten him to loosen up a little bit, doesn't mean that he's interested in me at all. And it certainly doesn't mean that he's going to change his mind about wanting me along on this little trip. I still have to prove to both Dean and Sam that I belong in this ghost hunt as much as they do. I have a job to do, too, after all. I have an amazing article that needs to be written and hopefully these boys will provide me with just the new angle the magazine needs to keep the presses moving.

"Front desk is that way." Dean says, breaking through my thoughts.

He points me towards the front of the building. I nod quickly and head in that direction.

"Dean and I are in 103 if you need anything." Sam calls after me.

"Okay." I call back over my shoulder, smiling to myself when I notice Dean punch Sam in the arm.

I'd overheard a little of the brother's "talk" before, at least the part about Sam being in charge of keeping me out of trouble. Apparently, he's taken the job to heart and I find it kind of sweet that he's worried about me. For some reason, Sam inspires that kind of reaction, I think. Not sure why.

I shrug it off as I walk inside the main office to the annoying chime of bells. I have yet to figure out why some places find it necessary to announce the presence of a customer with the same noise associated with a fat man who gets pulled around by reindeer. A grumpy guy in desperate need of a shave is sitting behind the counter, watching a television with the volume a tad to high for what I feel is professional.

"Can I help you?" he asks it like he's daring me to inconvenience him.

"I'd like a room for the night." I answer, staying a couple feet away more because of the overpowering smell of his cheap cologne than anything else.

"It's fifty bucks. Cash." he says, eyeing me up and down.

I suppress a shudder and reach for my wallet. He's ripping me off. This place can't be worth that much, but I'm too tired to argue. I pull the cash out of my wallet and hold it up so that he can see I'm genuine. He reaches out his hand for the money, so I take a step forward and toss it onto the desk.

"Here." he says, stashing the cash and tossing me a key, "104."

"Fantastic." I mutter to myself as I catch the key before it hits me in the face.

I quickly make an about face and head back outside to go find my room, almost gasping in the fresh air once the door swings shut behind me. I pass the boys' room on my way there, of course, and my eyes linger on the door. I wonder briefly if I'm letting my hormones make my decisions again. Sure, it's an awesome angle for the story to tag along with these guys, but to be honest with myself, that's not why I really wanted to join them. To be brutally honest, that's not why I want to join Dean right now.

"Stop it." I snap at myself, forcing my body to continue on to my car where I can grab the things I'll need for the night and some clothes for tomorrow "You're tired. Go to sleep."

Yeah, sleep. Everything will be clearer in the morning. Hours from now when Dean's sort of grin from earlier isn't so fresh in my memory. I wonder how many girls that grin has gotten out of their clothes. Probably more than a few. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I crush on guys like him?

"Because he's totally hot." I answer myself as I let myself into my room and collapse on the bed.

Bad move since there's a spring hidden under the sheets that's poking through the mattress, apparently waiting to stab me. I jump back up to my feet and carefully feel where I'm going to sit before I lower my now sensitive rear to the bed. I can't believe I spent fifty bucks on a mattress that is literally a pain in the ass.

But back to Dean, my one track mind urges me. I can understand why he's been so moody. If I was going around hunting supernatural beings, I probably wouldn't want a reporter along, cramping my style. Much less a girl reporter who can't seem to remember her own name when Dean is around. But I'll show them that I can be helpful. In fact, I'll do something spectacular and Dean will be flabbergasted, fall to his knees and propose. Yeah, right. And while I'm at it, I'll win the Pulitzer for reporting on haunted houses. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I am a little crazy. Don't you have to be to choose this kind of life? Well, crazy or not, I'd rather be here, chasing ghosts than in law school or whatever other plans she may have had in her twisted head for me.

"Sleep." I remind myself.

I'm sure the boys will want to get up early and sitting here reminiscing on my less-than-Gilmore Girls relationship with my mother is not going to make getting up in the morning any easier. I carefully feel out the space behind me for more hidden springs before lying down. The two pillows combined hardly equal one normal pillow, so I fold the top one in half and remind myself that I want to be here. Uncomfortable as the arrangement is, I soon find myself drifting off to sleep. I linger for a moment in that strange place between sleep and awake that seems kind of like a daydream, watching from some distant perspective as the dream version of myself chases after Dean and Sam. Dean is wearing a mask and a superhero costume that says "Hot Guy" across the chest while Sam has a towel pinned to his shoulders and is carrying his laptop. I hear myself yelling, "Hot Guy, Laptop Boy, please! I promise I can help! You won't have to save me!" Then, thankfully, I fall completely asleep before my drowsy brain can begin to question the meaning behind my thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: To make up for posting a short chapter, I'm posting another chapter in the same day (although it is also kind of short, but I couldn't help it. I got side-tracked thinking about Dean in the shower. It could happen to anybody).

I wake up to Sam calling my name. Slowly, I loosen my grip on the knife under my pillow and push myself up into a sitting position. Groaning, I try to remember why Sam won't let me sleep. Oh, yeah.

"Morning, sunshine." Sam grins at me.

I scowl at him, running my hands through what I'm sure is a lovely case of bed head. I hate Sammy in the morning. He's way too…chipper. I don't understand how someone can be a bowl of sunshine in the morning, but be pouty and moody all day.

"What time is it?" I grumble.

If he's gotten me up before eleven, I'll kill him.

"Eleven thirty."

Okay, he got lucky this time. Still, I don't see any reason why I need to be up. Nothing's going to happen with this town before dark. And until it's time for the shooting, action part of this, there's really not much for me to do. Sam's the research guy.

"What do you want, Sam?" I demand, wondering what college boy's brilliant excuse will be this time.

"Well, I don't want anything, but your _girlfriend_ stopped by this morning." Sam says, grinning like an idiot when he says 'girlfriend.'

"What are you twelve?" I snap at him.

He shrugs, still grinning. I itch to wipe that grin off his face. I'll get him back. Later. When I'm really awake.

I sigh, "What'd she want?"

"Well, first, I think you should know that she brought us breakfast." Sam says, revealing a bag that he's been holding behind his back. He hands it over and I discover doughnuts. Grudgingly, I nod, admitting that she's pretty cool for bringing us sugary goodness in the morning, "Secondly, she wants to talk to us about Fort Tucker. I guess she's already done some research on it that she thought we might want to hear."

"And you couldn't take care of this?" I wonder out loud as I stuff a doughnut into my mouth, hoping the sugar rush will make up for the fact that I'm awake, "Research is your thing."

"Yeah, but I'm not the one she wants to talk to." Sam replies, teasing me again.

I get the distinct feeling this may be Sammy's way of paying me back for the whole thing with Sarah on the hunt with the painting. I swallow my doughnut and reach for another one, determined not to let Sammy get the upper hand. Or, at the very least, not to let him know that he has.

"Well, what do you think about her?" Sam presses.

I shrug, "I'd do her."

Sammy makes a face, "You'd do anything that's female, human, and breathing."

"That's not the point." I reply around a mouthful. I swallow before continuing with a smirk, "The point is I could."

"You're a jackass, Dean." Sam pouts.

Ah, there's the Sammy I know and love. Much as his moodiness can get annoying, it's ten times better than his cheerful teasing.

"Jealous, Sammy?" I ask, mirroring his previous attitude with mock cheeriness of my own, knowing it will tick him off.

"Would you shut up?" Sam says. He gestures at the door beside his bed that leads to the adjoining room, "That's her room. She could hear you."

I roll my eyes, but I let it go.

"Are you going to eat all of those?" Sam complains as I take out a third doughnut.

I look from the doughnuts to Sam, frowning. I hate it when he makes me make tough decisions like this. With another sigh, I hand over the rest of the doughnuts to my little brother.

Quickly finishing my last one, I feel better with "food" in my stomach. I get up and head for the shower.

"We'll talk to her when I'm done." I tell Sam, who is still being kind of grumpy, before I shut the bathroom door behind me.

I'm going to have to have a talk with Sammy. He's got to give up these crazy ideas of his about getting big brother Dean to live his storybook ideal life. I don't want to have a caring relationship like him and Jessica. I'm not that naïve. I know that kind of life's not meant for me. I'm a Winchester, after all. One of these days, Sam will realize that he's one, too.

But so what if I don't make Sammy happy and propose to this girl? She's kind of cute, she chases supernatural stuff (although I sincerely doubt she's handled anything on a level with what Sam and I deal with), and she's available. That's more than I usually ask of the girls I'm with. Plus, her little stunt the night before with the crazy driving and making Sammy hang on to the oh-shit handle for dear life was…interesting. I mean, if I'm not going to talk any sense into either her or Sam, I may as well enjoy myself. I grin to myself as I think about that and quickly rub some shampoo into my hair. Lucky for me, Sam showered the night before and left everything in here for me. Places like this, if they do have any shampoo in the bathroom already, it's probably something left behind by former tenants that has developed a life of its own. Most people don't think it's possible for shampoo to go bad, but I beg to differ. I've seen it. It's scarier than a ghost.

Hair washed and body clean, but mind quickly headed into the gutter, I exit the shower. I grab one of the towels that Sam and I bring with us (once again, don't trust anything in the bathroom in places like this) and wrap it around my waist. Fixing the towel so that it'll stay in place, I position myself in front of the mirror to shave. I grab our bag of bathroom crap, I pull out the shaving cream only to discover that Sam has used it all and stuck the empty can back in the bag. Punk kid. I toss the empty can into the trash and reluctantly begin to shave with just soap and water. For all his fancy schooling and manners, he can sure be a jerk about using up bathroom amenities.

I wonder what made a girl like Lindy decide to live this kind of life. I doubt a demon killed her mom and her dad decided to train her as a hunter. We're special like that. So, it must have been something else. Maybe I'll ask her.

Not that I've decided to completely trust her yet. I've given up trying to get rid of her, sure, but of course I don't trust her yet. She's not going to be around long enough for me to trust her. We'll take care of this thing that's snatching up stupid kids and we'll be out of town by tomorrow. Same as usual.

I manage not to mutilate my face so I consider shaving a success. That done, I quickly brush my teeth and shake some of the remaining water out of my hair before forcing it into its normal arrangement. Now I just need some clothes and I can go see what Lindy has to offer about Fort Tucker.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean walks out of the bathroom, wrapped in just a towel around his waist, completely interrupting the conversation I was having with Lindy about the lack of useful information available on the history of the ghost town. Of course, this was all part of my plan when I knocked on the door connecting our rooms and invited her over to compare theories. I smirk when Dean stops in his tracks, eyes wide. I imagine that the look on his face now is as close to mortified as Dean will ever get.

"Oh…" Lindy says, her own eyes doubling in size as they take in the sight of my brother dripping wet.

I know that Dean's going to kill me, but man, it'll be worth it. I can't stop myself from laughing.

"Oh, hey, Dean." I manage through the laughter.

"Sammy…" Dean begins, taking one heavy step towards me with murder in his eyes before he stops himself. I knew he wouldn't sacrifice his precious dignity to kill me right away, "Sam, get me my clothes."

"You don't have to." I hear Lindy say under her breath so Dean won't hear. I expect I wasn't supposed to hear either, but her comment makes me grin even more.

Still, I know I can only push Dean so far so I dig through our stuff and throw some clothes his direction. He snatches them and retreats back into the bathroom. I wonder how long I have left to live.

"Sam," Lindy says, drawing my attention back to her, "This isn't exactly what I expected when you said to come over 'cause Dean was in the shower and he'd be right out."

I just chuckle, unable to think of anything to say. She's giving me this examining look, as if she's trying to decide if I'm trustworthy. I smile back at her, trying to let her know that I'm on her side as long as it involves annoying and embarrassing Dean.

"So," she finally continues, her speech slow and carefully worded, "I take it that I haven't been exactly subtle so I just want you to know that…I love you."

I laugh again, understanding her meaning, "Hey, when it comes to embarrassing my brother, anytime."

"I knew I liked you, Sam." she replies, a wide smile appearing on her own face.

I'm about to reply when I hear the bathroom door opening, so I quickly return my attention back to my laptop, "It could just be a vortex."

"No, there'd be a steadier stream of disappearances." Lindy says, playing along with the diligent study facade, but also making a good point, "It wouldn't be happening all of a sudden like this. Something must have been disturbed to set whatever-it-is off."

"So, it's something we need to kill." Dean says, officially making his entrance.

"Could be." I agree, although I'm a little worried about Dean's trigger happiness. You'd think he'd want to come across a simple case where we don't have to face something that wants to kill us every once in awhile. But, I guess that's Dean. If he wasn't carrying a weapon, I might not recognize him.

"How many hunts have you guys been on?" Lindy asks curiously, looking from Dean to me and back again.

I look to Dean to answer since he's been on more hunts than I have. Plus, Dean is more likely to keep track. It's what he does, after all. This is his self-proclaimed job. I still have hopes that I won't have to live on the road hunting ghosts my whole life.

Dean pauses, running a hand through his hair as he thinks.

"Well, I went on my first hunt with Dad when I was fifteen...um…over a hundred, at least, I'd say. Dad would know for sure." Dean shrugs.

Lindy's jaw drops and I have to say that I'm kind of surprised, too. I had no idea that Dad and Dean had hunted so much. I mean, I figured it was a lot, but hearing an actually number makes it more real somehow. My family's lives have been in danger over a hundred times. Many of those times occurring while I'd been sitting in class at Stanford. I recalled the time when Dean had been possessed by a mad scientist and had yelled at me for being selfish. Maybe he was right. Maybe I have been. Maybe I am. I suddenly don't feel too much like witty banter and casual conversation. I suddenly feel like getting this the hell over with so that I don't have to think about this anymore, so that I can focus on the job instead.

"Are you serious?" Lindy's asking, but I'm not really paying attention any more. I'm focused back on my laptop, trying to narrow down the possible nasty things that could be lying in wait for us.

"Yeah." Dean says like it doesn't matter, but also with the utmost sincerity.

"And you've…you've seen things? Real things? Ghosts and…and…"

"Vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, poltergeists, demons. Yeah, honey. We've seen it. We've killed it." Dean answers affirmatively. I glance up at him over my computer to see a satisfied look on his face. Not really like pride. He's not showing off. More like he's pleased to finally be getting through to her, finally making her see that this is real and serious.

Lindy's eyes are wide and bright. She seems kind of innocent, the way she looks at the moment. I really look at her for the first time with this new perspective altering my vision. Her dirty blonde hair hangs loose around her arms, almost down to her elbows. I hadn't really noticed how long her hair was before when we'd met her last night. She'd had it in a ponytail, then. Her blue eyes are staring up at Dean like he's something she's never seen before and doesn't quite understand yet. She seems young and I wonder how old she actually is. She's never mentioned it.

"Cool." she breathes, her mouth turning up in a smile.

I look back down at my computer, knowing that her statement will cause Dean to launch into a lecture about the dangers of the supernatural. I've heard it before from both him and Dad. I don't need to hear it again. I tune Dean out as he tries to scare her out of her enthusiasm. I have to admit, it's kind of nice to hear someone think what my family does is cool. It's not often that we run across someone who doesn't initially not believe us and think we're crazy and then want to put as much distance between us and them as possible once they learn the truth. I put that out of my mind as I run through the possibilities again of what this thing could be, referencing the scanty details in the newspaper articles on the disappearances against the M.O.s of the various entities. I rule out werewolves and other supernatural beasts of that variety. Vampires are out, too. Whatever this thing is, it's not leaving any bodies behind. Even a starving werewolf is going to leave something behind and vampires don't usually care to clean up after themselves. In fact, the lack of any bodies is making this kind of difficult to pin on anything in particular. I squint at the screen in frustration, willing something to show up that will explain things. Unfortunately the Internet is not complying and my searching abilities don't seem to be yielding much. Maybe what I'm looking for isn't there. Maybe we're going to just need to do some old-fashioned Scooby Doo type investigating to figure this one out. I sigh and close my laptop, turning my attention back to the developing argument between my brother and the reporter.

"Stop trying to scare me, Dean!" she snaps at him and I'm a little surprised at how she's managed to keep her confidence around him. Apparently, she's not speechless with him in the room anymore.

"If you were smart, you'd be scared! You'd be scared shitless. And once you're good and scared, you'll be careful. But you don't seem to get that." Dean replies, leaning over her where she's sitting cross-legged on my bed.

"Stop talking to me like I'm a child." she growls, "Maybe I'm not as experienced as you, but that doesn't mean I'm useless!"

"Dean." I interrupt, giving him a look telling him to lay off.

Dean sends his gaze heavenward and turns his back on both of us, retreating back to the other side of the room. I decide to try and repair the situation since it's not even lunchtime yet and I don't want to have to put up with two moody people for the rest of the day.

"Dean's just trying to make you understand how dangerous this is. You can't go into this without knowing that." I explain as diplomatically as possible.

"Whatever." she huffs, crossing her arms across her chest and looking off to the side, not meeting my eyes and avoiding the direction Dean's in completely.

Silence descends on the room and I feel like we've all withdrawn to the corners of the room, distant from each other even though none of us have really moved and I'm still sitting in the chair near my bed where she's sitting. The tension really bothers me and I can tell that if anyone's going to break it, it's going to be me. Dean is too stubborn and from what I've gleaned of Lindy's personality so far, she is, too. I hate having to mediate between Dean and the girls he's ticked off all the time.

"Look, we're not getting anywhere with this right now. Let's just forget it for now." I propose a truce, "Maybe we should go scope out Fort Tucker before this thing comes out."

Dean and Lindy both shrug noncommittally. I shake my head at the two of them and get up out of my chair, heading for the door. I'd rather wait for them in the car than sit in the same room with them acting like children. But as soon as I step out the door I'm faced with the decision of whether to head for the Impala or opt for Lindy's little green car. I sigh again in frustration and wait for Dean and Lindy to join me outside.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks to all of you who have submitted reviews thus far. However, I would like to comment that even more than positive reviews telling me that you like the fic so far, I love reviews that tell me what you don't like and what I should work on to make it better. I'd like to stress that this is still a work in progress that I fully plan on revising before I post a final copy on my partner in crime's website, You won't hurt my feelings, I promise, and if you can't think of anything, you can always just tell me that my chapters are too short or that I take to long to update. 

A/N2: Also, still need a title. If I can't think of one soon, I'm going to end up calling it something like Two Guys, a Girl, and an Impala or Ghost Town Afternoon or, my personal favorite working title, She's a Crazy Bi…Shut Your Mouth! Any suggestions?

God, Dean is so infuriating! I hate it when people make me feel useless. I don't know what he thinks is going to happen to me, but all these bullshit stories he's feeding me aren't going to convince me to grab onto his arm and beg him for protection. No matter how great his biceps are.

Disgusted with myself and my one-track mind, I get up and follow Sam outside. It's the middle of the day and the sun is high, illuminating the countryside. I don't know what it is about the Midwest, but there's always this grounded feeling about it. Whenever I'm outside in a rural area like this in this particular part of the country, I always feel more acutely aware of gravity and the feeling of the expansive sky weighing down on me. Now, thanks to Dean, I feel like there's pressure on me from all sides.

Sam is standing between the two cars, apparently undecided about who to ride/side with. I soften a little when I see him, seeing as he's repeatedly been the one to talk Dean into giving me a chance. I don't understand why Dean can't decide to do so without convincing.

"You wanna ride with me, Sam?" I ask, "I promise I'll stay on the right side of the road and you can pick the music."

"Sold." Sam agrees, giving me a small smile as if thanking me for helping him to decide.

We both head over to my car and I notice again, as I do every time I see it, that it is in desperate need of a carwash. In fact, somewhere in my travels some stupid, punk kids scrawled 'Wash me and feed me chocolate' in the dust on the trunk, followed by 'No, chocolate is bad for cars.' I still haven't gotten around to cleaning it off. I promise the car mentally that I haven't forgotten it and that I'll take care of everything as soon as I can before unlocking the door and sliding in. I reach across the passenger seat to unlock Sam's door, noticing as I do so that the inside of my car is not much better than the outside. Living out of my car has turned it into quite a dump. Of course I cleared off the seat so that Sam can at least sit down, but the floor at his feet is still filled with crap and I don't even want to think about the back seat or the trunk. I hope Sam won't think I'm a slob because of the state my car is in. It's creative disorganization, really.

Sam climbs in, picking up my CD case as he does so. He seems like a nice guy, Sam. The kind of guy you can trust, who'll come through for you. I wonder why he's here, doing this sort of thing.

"So, what's with the music?" I ask, easing into an impromptu interview which will hopefully clue me into what's going on with him and with his brother.

Sam looks up from my CDs with a smile, "My brother's musical tastes are kind of limited. I've listened to nothing but Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath for the past few months."

I take in this somewhat trivial information about Dean and reply, "Hey, Zeppelin's pretty awesome."

Sam groans, "Not you, too."

I smile reassuringly, "But not all the time. I said I had eclectic tastes. I've got everything from jazz and swing to heavy metal to…don't tell anyone this, pop. I even have some whiny, chick music if that's your thing."

"Not really." Sam says with a dry chuckle as he flips through the CDs. He pauses for a moment, "You're really not kidding, are you?"

"No, why?" I ask, wondering what inspired the question as I turn on the car.

"Well, you have Tool next to…N'Sync?" he says, with another chuckle, looking over at me with raised eyebrows.

"It's not mine." I say immediately, feeling defensive. Why hadn't I gotten rid of that?

"Okay." Sam says, but his eyebrows are still higher than normal and I can tell he doesn't believe me.

But I'm too distracted by the noises my car is making to bother with my somewhat poor taste in music in the past. Everyone goes through phases, after all. I frown at my car as it struggles to turn over and pump the gas a couple times.

"Should the car be making that noise?" Sam asks.

"What noise?" I reply, turning up the radio so that the noise from the engine can no longer be heard. I feel the car finally start and sit back in my seat in relief. I know my car is just letting me know how upset it is about being neglected. I promise it again silently that I will make it all up to it later. I notice Sam looking at me with this slightly concerned look on his face, so I smile at him and ask another question to distract him, "So how'd you get into all this, Sam?"

Sam kind of smiles at the question, but the smile is sad and he looks down. I wonder if maybe I should have waited to ask that question and if I've alienated him. I decide to back-peddle in the hopes that maybe he'll still want to talk to me and we can approach the touchy subjects again later, "I'm sorry. I didn't…"

"No, it's okay." Sam interrupts.

I stop and wait for him to say something else. The moment of silence before he speaks again is kind of excruciating.

"My mom died when I was a baby." Sam begins and I immediately realize why this was a bad topic. I immediately feel awkward and unsure of what to say to comfort him, but thankfully he continues talking, his gaze fixed out the window and off into the distance, "Something killed her. Something evil. Ever since then my dad has been trying to find what killed her and stop it from hurting anyone else. Fighting bad stuff has kind of become the family business."

"Oh." is the only thing I manage to get out of my mouth.

I feel like my brain's stop working. I almost can't register that information. A ghost killed their mom? I know Sam's not lying, I've been reporting long enough to have a bit of a sense for when people are lying, but he can't really mean what he's saying.

Sam looks over at me with that same sad smile again and takes pity on me, "What about you?"

I snap out of it in order to answer the question, immensely grateful to Sam for sparing me any further awkwardness and confusion, "N…nothing like that. I just have always been interested in the supernatural."

"Yeah?" Sam asks, looking interested. It's almost as if we didn't just have a conversation about his mom dying.

"Yeah. I mean, when I was little I saw something and I liked feeling like I could see something that others couldn't. I like the idea that there's more to things than just the obvious, ordinary stuff. Even if sometimes those things are bad." I try to explain what's in my head and my heart, but as usual I completely fail. I've never really been able to relate my motives for investigating the supernatural as a lifestyle and make others understand.

"Well, sometimes those things aren't just bad, they're evil and they hurt people. Those things have to be stopped." Sam says, his voice rough and determined.

"I'm not arguing with that, but I still want to understand what's going on. And I want to help people, too. I want to do both." I silently urge Sam to understand me, hoping that the look on my face communicates more than my words can.

A knock on my window makes me jump in surprise and whirl around in my seat. Dean's standing outside the car looking a little annoyed, but also curious. I roll down the window quickly to see what he wants.

"You two going to sit here all day with the car running?" he asks, leaning against my door.

"What? You can't wait five minutes?" I ask, more annoyed at the situation than at Dean. Whenever I try to explain what's going on inside my messed up mind, especially in regards to my life choices, I end up frustrated and irritated.

"I can, but if you two are gonna be awhile, I'd rather wait in the room. It has cable." Dean replies easily, looking a little too amused for my tastes at the moment.

That's it, I've had enough. I open my door, forcing Dean to quickly back out of the way or get hit by the door. Both brothers look confused.

"Sam, you drive my car. Try not to crash. Dean, I'm riding with you. We need to talk." I explain for them quickly before marching over to the Impala, getting in, and slamming the door shut after me.

I force myself not to look, but out of the corner of my eye I watch as Sam gets out of his side and exchanges a mystified look with his brother over the hood of my car. They say something to each other before Dean shrugs and heads in my direction while Sam moves around to the driver side. I cross my arms across my chest, determined not to let Dean see any sign of weakness. He's already seen me be more unsure of myself than I care for. I'm usually not like this.

Dean eases into his seat behind the wheel, closes the door, starts the car, and begins backing out of the space without saying a word. My annoyance increases. If he thinks he can get away with ignoring me, he's got another thing coming.

"Are you ignoring me?" I demand.

"No." Dean answers slowly, eyes still focused over his shoulder as he backs up. He stops the car and puts it in drive before glancing at me, "I'm driving."

I grumble under my breath about how driving and talking can be done at the same time, but stop when Dean asks, "What did you want to talk about?"

I look out the window to see Sam pulling out and following us. It's a little weird to see someone else driving my car, but I'm not overly concerned. I'm sure Sam will take care of it. He couldn't possibly treat it worse than I do. But I'm just avoiding the conversation, which is stupid because I'm the one who decided that we need to have it.

"Well, I don't think we really understand each other." I begin. Dean gives a derisive snort at that, which makes me glare at him before continuing, "And to be honest, you're kind of ticking me off. So, I figure if this is going to be as dangerous as you keep saying, we should get this worked out before anything goes down. You know, cooler heads and all."

Dean seems to mull that over before kind of shrugging, "Okay."

"Okay." I repeat, momentarily unsure of how to continue now that Dean has actually agreed to talking about this. I'd kind of been expecting an argument. I try to figure out the best way to start this little talk, reviewing mentally the tiny bits of information I've gleaned about Dean. The fact that I know so little is more glaring to me than anything I do know. Well, except maybe for what I've just learned about his mom. Maybe Dean wasn't really lying when he was telling me those stories about the things that go bump in the night. My thought process comes to a screeching halt as what I just thought to myself really sinks in. Now my silence is due to startling realization. What have I got myself into?

"Uh…Lindy? I thought you wanted to talk." Dean says after my silence has dragged out into a couple minutes.

I force down a growing lump in my throat, "D..Dean, those stories you told me…"

"Yeah." Dean encourages when I fail to continue.

"You were just making a point, right?"

Dean pauses before he answers, "If you're asking if I made those up, no, I didn't. They were all true."

I'm sure I must look like an idiot with my eyes wide and startled. My suspicion is confirmed by the satisfied look that appears on Dean's face when he looks at me. My mind races a little bit as I recall what Dean said to me earlier. About the people who died and the things that killed them. Was that really what I'd devoted my life to chasing? Nobody else at the magazine ever said anything like that. None of the other reporters ever told me stories about slashed up bodies. It was always about high EMF readings and objects moving and disembodied voices. Occasionally, there were scratches or bruises from having things thrown at them, but never death. Not in real life. That was only in ghost stories. Right? People made that stuff up to scare other people. But Sam hadn't been lying about his mom…

"Just got through to you, huh?" Dean smirks.

"Shut up." I snap.

I have to get a handle on this. I recall Sam's face as he told me about why he does this: sad and regretful, but also angry and determined. He wanted to help people, stop them from experiencing what he had. And I'd said that I wanted to help people, too.

"I don't care." I finally say out loud, my voice stronger than I expected it to be.

"What?" Dean asks, frowning in confusion.

"I don't care that those stories are real or that it's dangerous. I still want to do this. I still want to help people and I still want to understand what's going on out there." I say and as I'm saying it I know it's truly how I feel. I almost smile, I'm so relieved to have figured myself out.

"You're nuts." Dean says, shattering my moment.

"How am I any more nuts than you are?" I demand, my smile melting away.

"Because I know what I'm doing." Dean replies immediately, so sure of himself that I almost want to hit him.

"Why do you insist on treating me like I'm good for nothing?" my voice is steadily raising in volume.

"I never said that." Dean replies, his voice still as cool as when we started talking.

"I hate when people treat me like a useless, little girl!" I fume.

"I didn't say that either." Dean points out.

"I just want to make a difference!" I can't seem to stop myself from yelling the first thing that pops into my head.

"Do I need to pull over?" Dean asks.

"You're not going to talk me out of this." I growl, determined not to let him change my mind no matter what he says or does.

"Okay." Dean says, a smile appearing on his face.

That smile makes me freeze, "What?"

"I believe you. I can't change your mind. But at least now you have a hint about what we're up against. Maybe now you'll listen to me."

I blink slowly, taking a deep breath. I'm not totally sure what's just happened. Dean sees my confusion and gives a weak laugh.

"Well, I figure if you're so set on chasing this stuff, one of these days you're going to actually find something. So, just in case Sammy or me ain't there, I want you to be prepared for what's out there."

I pause and replay his statement in my head. Is he actually concerned about my welfare? That's almost sweet.

"So, what, are you going to teach me something?" I ask, a smile springing to my face, "Teach me how to fight the big nasties?"

Dean looks me over critically, "We'll see."

I feel about a hundred times better despite my growing apprehension about what we'll find tonight. I feel like maybe Dean does have some confidence in me after all. I feel like I understand why he's been so critical lately. Now we can move past screaming at each other and hopefully towards something more fun. I check Dean out as discretely as I can out of the corner of my eye, amused to find that Led Zeppelin is playing out of the speakers. I just hadn't noticed it before because of all the yelling I was doing. Sam wasn't kidding about Dean's exclusive music taste. I don't mind, though. It suits him. I relax into the seat and decide to enjoy the rest of the ride up to the ghost town with casual conversation.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: So, we finally have a title! Hurray! It's a reference to Superman since I keep comparing Lindy to Lois/Chloe. It's from the original movie when Superman first flies Lois and he tells her not to worry because he's got her, but she asks, "Who's got you?" Thanks to Haly for that and all her helpful suggestions to make this story better. I hope you like this next chapter and I'd like to let you all know that I've been working on revising the other ones later, so I will repost them along with the Chapter Nine, once I finish it. You don't necessarily have to reread them, but you can if you'd like and you have some time to kill. The changes are small, but I think that they make a difference in understanding the characters. At least, I hope that they do. Anyway, please read and review.

Okay, I'll admit it. I kind of like her. So sue me. She's cute with her long blonde hair and blue eyes and she's actually determined to do this. That's an interesting change of pace. Maybe Sam's right about her.

The other night Sammy insisted on telling me all about the good feeling he'd gotten from Lindy and how she was actually the kind of girl I'd really like. I'd just rolled my eyes and tuned him out. Sam's always trying to convince me to trust people that we really shouldn't be wasting time on. Especially since we're never in a place for very long. But who knows, maybe Lindy could be fun to keep around for a little while.

So, what's the problem? The problem is that I'm getting to know her and, even worse, I'm starting to actually _like_ her. Damn Sam and his half-assed match-making. This is stupid. I glare at Sammy's silhouette in the driver's seat of her car through my rearview mirror. If you weren't my brother, Sammy…

"So, you actually like my tunes? Sammy hasn't turned you against me?" I ask when I catch her mouthing the words to the song.

"No way. I love Zeppelin and classic rock. _Sammy_ just needed a break, I guess." she replies, stressing my nickname for my kid brother.

"Call him that." I encourage her, "He loves it."

"I'm sure." she nods, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I smile, admitting silently that she's caught me in the lie, but I have a feeling that she may take my advice anyway. I've always been fairly good at reading people and I think I've got her pretty much figured out, too. She'll call Sam Sammy and he'll hate me for it and she'll find it funny. I can already see it happening. I can already hear Sam yelling at me.

"Hey, did you ever see _Ghostbusters_?" she asks suddenly, catching me a little off-guard with her out-of-the-blue question.

I smile, recovering, "Of course. I've always thought Sammy seems like an Egon, doesn't he? Guess which one I am."

I flash her a flirtatious smile to encourage her. A small smile creeps its way onto her own face, almost as if its involuntary before she replies.

"Venkman, right?"

"Bingo." I nod.

"And why's that?" she asks.

I give her my most frank and innocent expression, "Because I always get the girl."

She laughs and kind of rolls her eyes, but when she says "I'll bet," I detect a note of bitterness. Intrigued, I wonder if she's jealous, but decide not to push that angle just yet. I've already reached my quota of hysterical girl moments for the day.

"And you're…huh…" I pause like I'm thinking really hard about this, "Jimmy Olsen?"

"Hey," she protests, "I'd like to think I rank a little higher than that."

"Okay, Lois." I joke.

She stops to think about the comparison, then shakes her head, "I've always kind of figured myself to be more of a Chloe Sullivan."

I freeze for a moment in surprise at how closely she's echoed my brother and wonder if maybe she overheard that conversation or if it's something more than that. Maybe she's some kind of psychic like Sam. A million possibilities race through my brain and I feel my suspicions swiftly returning before I realize that I'm letting the car drift. I hastily correct the situation, but when I glance at Lindy, I can tell that she's noticed. She smiles at me.

"I may have overheard a little bit of your talk in the bar the other night." she admits.

I relax, glad that the explanation isn't anything weird.

"Eavesdropping? I should've guessed. You really are a reporter."

She nods, still smiling, apparently not ashamed in the least to admit that she listened in on at least part of what I'd said to Sam. I'm kind of relieved and interested to see this new, more certain side to her. I guess now that she's made up her mind, she's found her confidence. And I do like confident more than I like insecure.

"So, why'd you get into this crazy line of work, huh?" I finally up and ask her.

"Well, I've always liked to write and I thought Buffy was a pretty cool show. Two plus two." she says, her eyes sparkling with humor when I catch them looking at me.

"I see." I reply, thinking to myself that just maybe our little reporter has a hang up on superheroes. She keeps bringing up movies and TV shows with heroes that save people from the supernatural. I wonder if maybe her real reason for doing all this isn't just because she wants to understand or to help people or to make a difference, but really to be a hero. I hope she won't get too caught up in that ideal like Sam does sometimes. Hero's are self-sacrificing and I don't have any patience for that when it comes to my little brother…or Dad, come to think of it. Maybe that's my problem. I keep getting stuck with people who have a hero complex.

"Aren't you going to ask me what a girl like me is doing in a place like this?" she teases me out of my reflections.

"Well, I assume you're here for the 'scoop.'" I reply.

She nods a little, but continues anyway like she wants to explain herself fully to me. I sense that she has this strong desire for me to understand her, "Yeah, but this one is important. _Paranormal Monthly_ doesn't usually send reporters into the wicked wilderness where real bad things happen, I guess. My normal fare is the haunted house. You know, strange noises, objects moving, stories of apparitions that never seem to show up when someone who can document them is around. But those kind of stories get stale unless you can start really showing people something. So, I volunteered for something major when I heard about this place, something that would keep us in business. I promised that I'd bring back a story completely different from the normal fare that would not only stun our regulars, but bring us new readers galore. I'm telling you this because I'm hoping that you two will help me do this."

I immediately begin shaking my head, "We're not…"

"Before you say no, I'm not talking about featuring you guys. I got the impression that you don't want the exposure and that's fine. You can be anonymous, but I think that following two real ghost hunters, getting your perspectives, is exactly what we need."

Now she's looking at me with big, pleading eyes almost just like Sammy does when he wants something. I wonder if he's told her to do that. He must know how much I hate it and how vulnerable I am to it. It almost doesn't matter that they're her bright blue eyes looking at me instead of Sam's brown ones. It's all the same in the end. It's all about big, brother Dean looking out for the innocent, little kids. I wonder if this is how Dad feels sometimes. I try to avoid the eyes by keeping my own on the road, but I can't stop myself from glancing back at her repeatedly to see if her expression has changed at all. Finally, I give up.

"Stop looking at me like that." I snap, but she's listening to me about as much as Sam ever does, "Alright! Alright, we'll help you with the stupid story. Just make sure you don't say anything about who we are. This ghost hunting business has to stay below the radar, okay?"

The smile that lights up her face is almost blinding and I'm bothered by the fact that a girl I've known for less than 24 hours can manipulate me already. It especially bothers me that I feel like there's two of Sam around with all this whining and pouting and getting me to promise to do things outside of my comfort zone like bringing Lindy along in the first place and now agreeing to help her with her story. And yet, despite the fact that I'm bothered by all this and I know how much I'm going to regret my promises, I can't help but feel a little pleased with myself for inspiring that kind of smile.

"Under the radar. Cross my heart." she agrees, tracing an X across her chest and my eyes are momentarily drawn down by the movement. I mentally thank god for tank tops.

I force them back to the road. My brain has immediately concocted some fantasies that I find all too entertaining, but I push them to the back of my mind for later.

"Okay, now that we have all the important stuff out of the way, maybe we should backtrack a little. Lindy, whose last name I still don't know, where are you from?" I ask.

I don't really care, but this is how things work. You don't just pick up reporters at bars. You learn last names and places of birth and you build trust. Besides, if she's going to be writing about me, I want to know more about her. I can't trust my reputation with just anybody. So, small talk it is.

"It's Lindy Carrington and I'm from Phoenix. But in my articles I'm Sydney Welsh and I'm from New Zealand. Don't tell anyone." she says.

I raise an eyebrow, "Like the fake names, huh?"

"It's not a fake name." she protests, "It's a pen name. Makes me more interesting as a writer. My boss said it would be a good idea. Plus, keeps any crazy people from pinning me to what I write."

"Doesn't it keep you from getting the credit, too?" I wonder.

"Not really. The people who count know who I am. Or at least, they have an idea and they know how to reach me. Plus, I'm still getting the paycheck." she says with a grin, "What about you, Mr. Anonymous?"

"Sam and I are from Kansas and the last name is Winchester." I tell her.

She looks away, out the window before replying, "Yeah, right. Figures you'd pick the name of a weapon. And so, what, are you related to the people with the mansion, too?"

I'm not sure I'm completely following her besides the fact that she thinks I made up my last name. Then, suddenly I remember the Winchester Mansion in Northern California that's supposedly haunted by all the people killed by Winchester rifles. The crazy old lady kept building crazy traps through the house her whole life because some psychic told her that would keep the ghosts at bay. I wonder why it's never occurred to me before that we have the same last name and I wonder for a second if maybe we are related. Nah, it's probably just a coincidence.

"It's not a fake name." I tell Lindy, "For once, I'm using my real one. I can't help it if my last name happens to be cool."

She looks at me levelly, "Serious?"

I nod, "Yeah. Dean Winchester. That's me."

"Huh." she says, like she can hardly believe that's true, "Too bad I can't use your name in the paper. People who read _Paranormal_ love crazy coincidences like that. Oh, well."

She lapses into silence, like she's lost in her own thoughts, so I take the opportunity to pop out the tape that has reached its end and gone silent. I reach across the divide between us to the box of tapes near her feet and pull one out at random. I glance down at the label and see that it's Metallica before sliding it into the player. The silence is warmed by the sounds of music, making it more comfortable. Still, I feel like I should say something before she gets too many crazy ideas in her head about how to portray me.

"Hey, Lindy?"

"Yeah?"

"This story of yours."

"What about it?"

"Make sure I look cool."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Alright, I know this chapter is leaning towards the short side of things again, but I want to make sure that we get to see everyone's view of this place the first time they see it. I've also reposted the chapters previous to this one if anyone is bored. Also, if anyone can tell me why the WB is not showing reruns of Supernatural right now, I'm all ears. And why they haven't said anything about releasing DVDs or even a soundtrack? I mean, come on people! How am I supposed to survive the summer?

I have to admit that I'm enjoying the drive up to Fort Tucker. It's kind of nice to have someone trust me to drive their car without lecturing me or watching me like a hawk for the first hour. Dean is way too protective of that Impala. Thinking of which, Dean has just pulled up in front of what I assume must be Fort Tucker. Even in the daylight, this place screams creepy. I don't know if it's the all-but-gone paint on the buildings, the coating of dust and cobwebs on everything, or the stark absence of life, but whatever it is, I immediately feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. All my senses go on alert even though my mind tells me that logically there shouldn't be much to worry about here until after dark. I still can't help, but be wary, though as I turn off the car and slowly step outside. The sound of car doors closing seems to echo all the way down the main street that we have parked at the beginning of and back to us again. The noise is like gun shots in the silence. The quiet makes me feel like whispering, like I'm in a library. I move quietly over to join Dean and Lindy by the Impala.

"Well," Dean says, clapping his hands together. His voice and the clap are both too loud for the setting, making me jump a little. I barely resist the urge to glare at him. Of course, Dean never was one for library voices. Of course, Dean never was one for libraries, either, "shall we explore?"

I meet Dean's eyes for a second, then look pointedly back at the trunk of the Impala. He raises an eyebrow at me as if to ask what I'm worried about. I shake my head back, unable to explain why I've immediately gotten such a bad vibe about this place. Still, it can't hurt to be prepared and Dean's never been one to argue against going into someplace fully armed, so we both move to the back of the car. Lindy follows us, but it's obvious by the look on her face that she doesn't know why we've both decided to gravitate towards the trunk. I don't bother to explain, knowing that as soon as Dean reveals the hidden compartment inside she'll know what we're getting.

Wordlessly, as if we're both psyching up for a battle even though we both know that shouldn't be the case at this time of day, Dean opens the trunk and pulls up the floorboard so that we can both grab weapons of choice. I glance over at Lindy as I slide the pistol into my waistband, noticing her eyes widen in shock.

"You two planning on shooting up the place?" she asks.

Dean casually inspects a shotgun before discarding it in favor of something smaller, which he slips into his own waistband behind his back, "You never know."

"Remind me again about how you're not crazy." she says, watching him and how familiarly he handles the weapons.

"We're not crazy." I reassure her since Dean's never been much good at that, "Most of these are loaded with rock salt. Salt wards…"

"I know what salt does." she interrupts, seeming a little impatient with me for explaining it to her, "I do write about this kind of stuff, you know?"

I feel a little embarrassed for assuming she wouldn't know about the properties of salt and give her a sheepish smile to show her I didn't mean anything by it. She smiles back

"I guess I just wasn't expecting an arsenal in the trunk." she admits.

"Can't go hunting unprepared." Dean comments, picking up one final item before shutting the trunk.

He sounds so much like Dad that I can't resist shooting him a look. He catches my eye, but quickly turns away, ignoring me. I can tell, though, that he knows what I'm thinking. He knows, but he doesn't want to acknowledge another reminder of Dad's absence. I let it go, because I don't really want to think about Dad not being here either. Where is he?

I turn my attention back to the present with an adeptness that is starting to worry me. Putting Dad out of my mind is getting much too familiar these days. We parted on such bad terms when I told him that I was going away to school that I hadn't thought I'd ever see him again, but I at least knew where he was. I at least knew that Dean was with him, that they were together, taking care of each other. I hadn't imagined anything like this. And now it's getting so hard and so tiresome worrying about him that all I can do is push him from my mind. I wonder sadly if I'm being selfish again by not thinking about him more, not thinking about the trouble Dad may be in just because it causes me pain to think about it. But now is definitely not the time.

"You take this." Dean is saying, pushing a gun at Lindy.

She takes a step backwards, holding up both hands, "No way."

Dean steps forward, grabs one of her hands and presses the gun into it, "Yes. Hopefully, you won't need it, but just in case. I won't let you come with us unarmed."

His tone and the look on his face leave no room for argument. Lindy looks down at the gun, the look on her face unreadable, her hair masking part of her expression anyway. Finally, after a long moment in which none of us do or say anything, she follows our lead and slips the gun into the top of her jeans at the small of her back. She looks tremendously uncomfortable, but to her credit she doesn't say a word about it. She simply nods to herself as if to say, "that's that" before looking up at both of us.

"Alright, but I need to grab something out of my car, too. One second." she says before hurrying back to her car.

She opens the driver's door, puts her knee on the seat and reaches across it into the back. I catch Dean staring at the view of her butt this presents and sigh at how predictable my brother is. It doesn't matter where he is or what kind of danger may be lying in wait, he doesn't miss an opportunity to check out a pretty girl. It's embarrassing sometimes. Especially when he's so open about it. Thankfully, Lindy is soon jogging back over to us, a large camera clutched in her hands.

"You didn't lock the doors." she says to me.

"You don't want them locked." Dean answers before I can explain.

"Why?" she asks, looking between us.

Dean grins at her, "You really want to be fumbling with your keys like people do in every horror movie known to man when something bad is chasing you?"

She absorbs that and, surprisingly enough, grins back at him, "Not really. Thanks, Sam."

"No problem." I reply.

The conversation between us has distracted me a little bit, but when I turn around and look back at our destination, the serenely silent ghost town, my nerves return immediately. It seems that this place has the same affect on Dean and Lindy, too, because when they turn around to follow me, they both instantly fall silent, all traces of humor vanishing. The three of us move quietly, but determinedly into town, our shoes stirring up dust on the wide street. The second we pass the first buildings lined up on either side of the road, I feel like we're walking into a trap, as if the buildings themselves are the enemy and they are slowly surrounding us. I clamp down on that feeling and keep walking, my eyes quickly scanning one building façade after another, looking for any sign of movement or trace of a disturbance. Everything here seems coated in shades of brown, grey, and rust, the sun only illuminating the wear instead of bringing out what is left of the color. This place never reaped any rewards from the gold rush west. In fact, this seems like a town where people have never wanted to live. Momentarily, the thought that this is the kind of place where cowboys may have once come to duel at high noon enters my mind, but it's gone as quickly as it comes. More likely this is the kind of place where some crazed privateer went on a killing spree, damning his soul to haunt this place and now us. Nothing seems quaint in that cowpoke, small town, antique sort of way. Everything seems hostile and foreboding and more words in that semantic field. This was a place where desperate people were forced to eke out a living because they had nowhere else to go and maybe their spirits are still stuck with this place that no doubt slowly drained the life out of them.

"Caw!"

I jump, whirling towards the movement coming from the balcony of a building on my right, my hand flying to my gun before I realize that it's just a bird. I catch Dean smirking at me, but I don't bother to say anything to him because I noticed that he jumped, too. We're all edgy, it's not just me. Instead of gratifying Dean with a response, verbal or otherwise, I look past him to Lindy, who has taken to looking at this place through the lens of her camera. She snaps a few pictures while we're stopped, before lowering the device from her face. She catches me looking and smiles nervously at me.

Dean starts walking again and I follow suit. I keep examining every building we pass for something, anything that will tell us what is going on here. Unfortunately, so far this place is as lacking in evidence as it has been in my search on the computer. Tons of creepy, zero clues.

Finally, after what seems like forever, we reach the end of the street. The road tapers down into a path that disappears into the woods from this point. I turn around, looking back up the street to the cars. They seem farther than I'd like, but not far enough to justify how long it seemed to take to reach this distance.

"Maybe we should check inside the buildings." I suggest.

"Guess so." Dean agrees, giving up on his visual search through the surrounding trees and turning to face me, "Split up."

I nod, but as I'm doing so I catch a flicker of an emotion cross Lindy's face before she buries it behind an expressionless countenance and busies herself with inspecting her camera.

"Dean," I begin, but he shoots me a quick look that stops me before he continues speaking.

"Sam, you take the buildings on the right. I'll take the left. Lindy, you stick to the road and let us know if you see anything. Anything, okay?" he says, searching for her eyes in her down-turned face.

She looks up, meeting his gaze full-on. She looks determined as she nods. I'm glad that Dean didn't try to send her searching through buildings on her own. As tough and as brave as she may be, I saw the fear that flashed in her eyes at the suggestion of splitting up and I can't imagine being anything less than afraid at being told to look for a supernatural being on my own on my first hunt. I flash back to my own experiences and feel tremendously grateful that Dean was there with me. Those first hunts Dad made us go on, when we were still kids and should have been playing cops and robbers with plastic water guns instead of searching for poltergeists with 45s loaded with rock salt, had been terrifying. If I'd been alone, I'm not sure I could have made it through them.

The three of us start the trek back up the street towards the cars. I pause for a moment before splitting off from Dean and Lindy. Dean's eyes meet mine and I can almost feel him telling me silently to be careful. I send him back the same message before turning my focus towards Lindy. I give her another reassuring smile, noticing how tight her grip has become on her camera. But I also notice that there's not a single shake to her body, she's standing firm, and I know that she's not about to back down from anything. She gives me a quick nod before I turn and head off to investigate the structure on the corner.


	10. Chapter 10

I stand momentarily frozen in the center of the street as Dean and Sam head in opposite directions into the buildings. I'm afraid, I'll admit that, but I'm also kind of excited. A feeling of anticipation is welling up inside of me, making me expect every shadow in every corner to turn out to be something more than just a shadow. This is what my career is all about. Finally, I'm going to be discovering something real. I know I am. I can feel it.

Still, when Sam and Dean both disappear from my sight into buildings that look like they've never seen better days, just marginally less bad ones, I feel a chill run up my spine. To keep myself focused, I take a few more pictures, using my camera zoom like binoculars to get a closer look at the buildings. I find myself drawn to the dusty windows and the dim outlines of objects inside. It's hard to tell what the objects might be through the screen of dirt and I find myself staring at each one, waiting to see if it will move.

After a few minutes of obsessive staring, movement makes me snap my attention back to the doorway on the left side. To my relief, Dean walks out, shaking his head at me to indicate that he's found nothing. He immediately continues on to the next two-story storefront on his side of the street and my momentary relief from solitude evaporates. Even though I know that both of the boys are fairly close by, with them out of sight I feel immensely alone in this place. Plus, the fact that Dean was holding a gun in his hands, ready to shoot at a moment's notice does not do much to calm my nerves.

I reflect again on the possible entities responsible for the disappearances and shudder to myself. It's infinitely easier to think about werewolves, vampires, and whatever else when they're in the abstract. It's another thing entirely when you're wondering what could be hiding behind the next door.

I pan down with my camera and catch Sam exiting the complex on the right. I resist the urge to take his picture. I don't want to give them any reason to doubt my word about keeping their identities a secret. And since I can't use the picture, it would just be a waste of film. Still, the desire to document evidence of the fact that I'm not alone here is strong. If I do see something, I don't want to have my report dismissed as a hallucination. It's important to me to remain as credible as possible in this line of work.

Sam glances at me with a question in his eyes. I'm not sure exactly what the question is: Am I okay? Did Dean find anything? Have I seen anything? It doesn't really matter which question it is, really. I lower my camera and shake my head at him, indicating that nothing has changed. He holds my gaze for a moment, expressive brown eyes almost radiating comfort and assurance, before he turns to his next search area. I wonder momentarily at Sam's ability to make me feel better without saying a word, then refocus my own attention to the task at hand. I'm supposed to be searching just as much as they are. With that in mind, I take my first few steps forward, feeling as I do so the world that has slowly solidified around me dissipate with the motion. I walk slow, letting myself readjust to the new possibilities of every slight change in my position. I'm acutely aware of the cold metal against my back, but I feel exposed out here in the middle of the street. Still, I'd rather feel exposed than join the shadows under the eaves of the buildings. I can't seem to trust shadows. I've never been able to, not since I was little. My overactive imagination has always been able to read too much into the unknown and as I've gotten older and started to find out about more possibilities of what could be lurking…well, it hasn't gotten better. I saw something when I was a child and I'm not about to let that go no matter what anyone else says. Despite the fact that I almost want something to solidify from the darkness, I'm also afraid that something will. It's a strange contradictory feeling and it makes it hard for me to be very decisive.

The boys are taking entirely too long to search these buildings. I wish there was some way to make this go faster. After all the hell Dean put me through by making me realize that real evil exists in ways I hadn't really come round to believing as of yet (my brain still balks at the thought), the anticipation is killing me almost more than the realization did.

The sun disappears behind some clouds and the whole town falls into dimness. I shiver slightly as my mind recalls my thoughts of only seconds earlier about shadows. I quickly calculate in my head as I look up at the offensive clouds that are causing the premature dusk exactly how much daylight we have left. Now that summer is fading into fall, the days are getting shorter, but there should still be a good five hours of sun left.

As if sensing my irritation about how long this is taking, the boys both emerge almost simultaneously from their second obviously fruitless searches. Dean shrugs at both Sam and I as if to say he doesn't know why whatever is here hasn't been more convenient about revealing itself.

"There's something here." Sam says, sounding so sure that it sends another chill down my spine, "We just have to keep looking."

Dean groans, "Great. Supernatural hide and seek. My favorite."

He pulls something out of his pocket that looks like a remote gone wrong and heads back towards his side of the street, holding it out in front of him. I figure it must be some kind of EMF reader, but it's hard to know for sure. I still haven't said anything, which apparently makes Sam think that I'm really not okay and he has to check on me again. I can almost see it coming when he asks, "Are you okay, Lindy?"

"Fine." I say quickly, "I just wish we could figure this out already."

"We may not find anything until after dark." Sam warns.

I nod, but when Sam starts to walk away to go back to his own investigating I mutter, "That's what I'm afraid of."

As the third and then the fourth dwellings on each side turn out to be equally clueless, my anxiety fades into impatience. This thing is really killing my afternoon. Not only has it unearthed some childhood apprehensions that I'd spent a good deal of time burying in my subconscious, it's caused me to spend a good chunk of my free time with possibly the two hottest guys in my area of interest on a wild goose chase. And yet, I can't immediately dismiss my fears because there is something about this place. Sam's right, there is something here, it just won't show itself. Not yet. Could be it's waiting for just the right moment. Great, there's that anxiety again.

More minutes die agonizing deaths as we search. I'm starting to think that maybe this will turn out like most of my other stories. Nothing substantial to report, just personal experiences and other such things that can't be verified or really counted as evidence.

"Hey, guys!" Sam calls suddenly, leaning out the door of what must be the sixth place I've seen him disappear inside.

He doesn't seem too much like he's in dire peril and I'm fairly excited by the change of pace, so I immediately run over. Dean is quick to join us.

"You find something?" he asks, revealing that he's at least partially as excited as I am that this long search may not have been in vain.

"Come on." Sam says, gesturing for us to follow him instead of just telling us what he's found.

Dean sends me another look that plainly says, 'yeah, he's always this annoying' before he precedes me into the house after his brother. The inside is of the house is dim and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Apparently, the dirt smeared across the windows is as effective as curtains in barring the entry of light. Inside are rows of empty shelves that make me think that this may have once been some kind of general store. I hadn't thought it was possible for this town to seem creepier, but I was obviously wrong. Being inside these buildings is like being in a graveyard.

"Hey, you coming?" Dean snaps me out of it.

I look over at him where he's standing on the other side of a shelf. The shelves are only about five feet tall, so we can easily see over them. I'm at least grateful that they're not towering over me, obscuring my vision of the rest of the room.

"Yeah." I reply, hurrying around the shelf to join him.

He walks by my side as we head around the counter lining the back of the room. There's a small doorway at the back where the door itself has long ago fallen off the hinges and to the ground. I glance at Dean to see if I should go first. He raises his eyebrows in response and I wonder if the look in his eyes is a challenge. I take it that way regardless and step across the door into the even darker, smaller room beyond.

"Over here." Sam calls from inside, waving me over to join him further inside.

He's looking at something on the floor and when I join him, I notice that he's looking at a trap door. The kind you only see on TV with the large iron ring for a handle.

"Why is this important, Sammy?" Dean asks as he walks up behind me.

Wordlessly, Sam pulls the trap door open. On the underside of the door there are scratches etched into the wood. Dean immediately moves to get a closer look, kneeling by the wooden panel.

"These look human." he says, finally. He looks down into the cellar, but even in the daylight it's incredibly dark in there, "Sam?"

"I looked. There's nothing down there. This is all I could find." Sam says. He lowers himself to Dean's level, "Dean, what if these people who've disappeared are still alive?"

"Wait, you think something has these people trapped?" I ask, feeling a little lost. This changes everything.

Sam nods, "I think they're here, but just like we can't find what has them, we can't find them either. I think we need to wait until dark and come back."

As I absorb that information, I bring my camera back up to my face. I don't want the brothers to see my fear returning. I adjust the flash on my camera and take a picture of the scratches. Dean and Sam both kind of groan at the sudden brightness and I kind of hope that the flash blinds them a little bit. That way they won't see me take too long to lower my camera again. That way they won't notice the brief struggle for control of myself. I hope that when they do see me again, they'll only see me look determined and ready for anything.

"Well, let's get out of here, then." Dean says, standing up, "No point in us sitting around here, waiting."

I nod and the three of us head back towards the cars.


	11. Chapter 11

I head back to the Impala, entirely ready to get the hell out of this place, at least for a little while. I don't know what the hell kind of demon or ghost takes people alive and keeps them hidden in a cellar. I also don't know why, if these people are still alive, we can't see them. All I know is that we're going to find this thing tonight and kill it. That's all that really matters anyway.

I'm kind of proud of Lindy, if that's really the right emotion. She's a tough girl. I don't know many girls who'd stick around after seeing evidence of people trying to claw their way out of what I'm sure is a mini version of hell. Maybe she has more guts than I first thought.

"Here." the girl in question says as we reach the cars. She slaps the gun I gave her into my hand and then turns and walks quickly to her car. I glance at Sam for an explanation since he seems more in tune with his girly side and therefore understands girly emotions better.

"Dude, what did you do?" Sam asks, looking between us.

So much for Sam's insight.

"I didn't do anything." I defend myself.

She's already started her car and is pulling out. I get in the Impala, Sam joining me, and follow her.

"We walked back to the cars, she gave me the gun and drove off. I didn't even say anything." I continue to impress upon my brother my innocence.

"Maybe she needs to be alone for a bit." Sam offers.

"Maybe." I allow.

It's a good distance into town again and I don't much want to talk about Lindy with Sam anymore. So, I turn on the stereo again and lean back in my seat. Thankfully, for once, Sam decides not to push it and lets me drive in peace. It's nice not to have to think about anything for a few minutes, just sit back, listen to the music, and drive. There's almost nothing as soothing as driving my baby.

Unfortunately for my peace of mind, but lucky for my rumbling stomach, Lindy pulls into the parking lot of a diner as soon as we enter town. I don't know why every small town has a diner, but it's almost a steadfast rule. They're all basically the same, too. Same food, same clientele, same ubiquitous cook and overweight head waitress. Occasionally, we'll find ones that also sport a young, cute local girl whose waitressing around school. Those are nice ones.

We park and get out, Sam grabbing Dad's journal as he does so. Lindy's already waiting, leaning against her car. She straightens as we approach and I search her face for the tell-tale signs of panic bubbling under the surface. She meets my eyes and gives me a somewhat uneasy smile. I can tell she's still a little freaked, but she seems to be handling everything really well. In fact, she really seems to just be taking this in stride. I guess figuring out that a real, live demon or whatever is actually in that place, holding people captive, hasn't changed her goals at all. I respect that, I guess, but I still feel like she's going to be a liability on this hunt.

"What's up?" I ask her.

"I thought of something I wanted to ask you about." she replies.

"What's that?"

She shakes her head and gestures at the diner, "Let's get some food first."

I can't argue with that. The three of us head inside where a young, bubblegum-popping, extremely bored looking brunette looks us over.

"This way." she says without any preamble, leading us to a booth along the wall. She drops some menus on the table and disappears. I raise an eyebrow slightly. So much for small town hospitality.

I slide quickly into the booth and don't even bother to look at the menu. I already know what it says and I get the same thing most of the time anyway. You just can't beat an old-fashioned cheeseburger and fries, especially if there those great steak fries. My stomach growls just thinking about it, the smells from the kitchen encouraging my appetite even more. Man, I'm hungrier than I thought. I can't resist tapping the table impatiently.

I look up at Sam and Lindy, wondering what's taking them so long to sit down. Usually it's just me and Sammy, one of us sitting on each bench. Apparently a third edition has thrown him off and he's waiting to see where Lindy would like to sit.

"You two plan on joining me?" I ask.

Looking slightly embarrassed, Lindy plops down on the bench, sliding over to make room for Sam. I wonder why everyone seems automatically more comfortable with Sam. Must be that annoyingly innocent look of his.

I'm about to say something, like ask Lindy to spit out whatever it is she wants to tell us, but both she and Sam disappear behind menus. Why do they even bother? Especially Sam, he should know the fare for places like this like the back of his hand. Sometimes I think Sam likes to read so much that he'll read anything.

I'm getting increasingly more impatient with the menu-readers when the prerequisite chubby older waitress approaches the table. I wonder if she'll be the motherly type or the grumpy type.

"Welcome to Charlie's. Anything on the menu catch your eye, darlings?" she asks with a friendly smile.

I flash her a charming smile of my own, quickly scanning her uniform and picking out her nametag "I'd love a cheeseburger and fries with a coke, Maddie."

"No problem, sweetheart." Maddie replies, quickly scribbling on an order pad, "And you two?"

"Uh…just water for me and a…chicken sandwich." Sam says from behind his menu.

"Fried or grilled?"

"Grilled, please."

I barely suppress a groan at Sam's ever-increasing girliness. Next thing you know he'll be ordering…

"Can I get a salad on the side?"

That. God, Sam, you're not my brother. We can't be related.

"Sure thing, hon." Maddie says, collecting Sam's menu from him. She looks expectantly at Lindy.

"I'll have the same, please. But with fries instead of a salad." she says, handing over her menu, too.

Man, my brother's girlier than a girl. Maybe I should trade Sam for Lindy. If I could just teach her to handle a gun… Plus, she likes my music and she's less pouty. I'm starting to like this idea. Plus, being forced to share a bed with Lindy would be way more fun than with my freakishly tall, bed hog brother.

"Hey, Earth to Dean!" Lindy snaps me out of my wishful thinking.

"Sorry. So what did you want to tell us?"

"I have an idea about what could be haunting Fort Tucker." Lindy reveals in hushed tones, glancing around to make sure no one's close by. I lean forward in my seat expectantly, "Do you think it could be a fear demon?"

I think that over, recalling what I've heard about fear demons. Pastor Jim once told me about them, I think. Said something about demons that feed on fear so they keep their victims alive and terrified for as long as possible. You know, until they eventually die of fright. But that still doesn't explain why we couldn't see the people this thing has trapped. I reach across the table to take Dad's journal from Sammy, hoping that maybe there's something there about fear demons that will explain everything.

"What is that?" Lindy asks as I rapidly flip through pages on the various entities Dad has investigated.

"Our Dad's journal." Sam says, "It's basically everything he's ever come up against or researched."

"How long has your Dad been doing this?" Lindy asks.

She sounds awfully intrigued, but I'm too busy searching the journal to look up to see the expression on her face. I'm sure she'd love to get her hands on Dad's journal, dig through all the info he's compiled over the years. I wonder briefly as I scan pages whether or not it would be a good idea to let her see it. I'm reluctant to hand over our best source on things that go bump in the night to anyone besides family, but maybe the truth about this stuff should be printed. I mean, I'm thoroughly sick and tired of seeing people with crosses and wooden stakes hunting vampires. People who try that in real life get killed.

"Since I was a baby." Sam says.

"Found it." I announce, interrupting their Q and A.

Sam and Lindy both lean towards me, trying to see what I'm reading, but I continue to monopolize the journal. I quickly read through the long entry from Dad, looking for any similarities with our current situation.

"Dean, let us see or read out loud." Sam whines.

I sigh loudly so that Sam will know exactly how much of a pain he's being before I start over at the beginning, "Fear demon's are lower level demons that feed on fear. They take humans alive and force them to live out their worst fears until eventually it kills them. Looks like Dad's never faced one before because he says that according to Pastor Jim they can be killed if you can face it with no fear in your heart. That sounds like something Pastor Jim would say. Hey, it also says that the victims seem to vanish because the demon takes them into their own minds where their fears are real."

I pause looking up at Sam and Lindy. It looks like we have our guy.

"Definitely sounds right. Good job, Lindy." Sam congratulates her.

"Yeah, good call on that one. How'd you think of that?" I ask, genuinely curious how she came up with that when neither Sam nor I had thought to look into it when we had the information with us the whole time.

"Well, I was thinking back on the articles I've written. This one came to mind." she reveals and I think for a second that maybe she already has a lot of the info in Dad's journal. Although I'm sure she doesn't have the helpful info on how to kill these things that Dad has acquired, "The story was about fear and how these things take advantage of the human mental state. What happens to us mentally is real and if we let the fear overwhelm us in our mind or if we fear dying and it kills us in our mind, we really die. Mind and body are connected, that whole thing."

"Sounds peachy." I quip dryly.

"Does Dad say how to kill it?" Sam asks.

I look back at the page and frown when I discover that Dad didn't include any handy hints on this particular demon. I guess since he's never faced one, he hasn't had a chance to write a 'How to Kill' guide.

"No. Just the facing your fear thing, which I'm sure is not the whole of it. It's never that easy." I report.

None of us comment on it further because Maddie is returning with our food. I plaster my smile back on, but it's more for the food she's carrying than for her. I follow my plate with my eyes as she sets in front of me.

"Dig in, honey." she says cheerfully.

"Yes, ma'am." I nod, not hesitating to stuff my face. If I have to go face my worst fears I damn well am not going to do it on an empty stomach and I'm not going to waste any time rectifying that situation. Besides, food always tastes so much better with impending doom in the near future. And, true to form, the burger tastes great.


	12. Chapter 12

I can't help but stare at my brother for a moment, my chicken sandwich halfway to my mouth. He's totally pigging out and it's really kind of gross.

"What?" Dean demands with his mouth full.

I grimace in disgust and embarrassment at my brother, "Dude, close your mouth."

Dean quickly chews and swallows, "Sorry, Mom, but I'm kind of hungry."

I roll my eyes at my brother and return to my meal. I'm hungry, too, but I can at least eat without sharing the digestive process with everyone else at the table. I glance over at Lindy to see that she's making kind of a face, but she doesn't seem as completely put off by it as Sarah was when Dean practically stuffed his cheeks with hors d'oeuvres. She's definitely got it bad for my brother if she can stomach his table manners or lack thereof.

The three of us are silent as we work on our respective meals. Dean and I both eat with the quickness that comes from being raised with another teenage brother around. Both our plates our clean by the time Lindy is finishing off her sandwich. She catches me looking, notices our empty plates and pushes her fries to the center of the table.

"So, Dean, what's the plan?" I ask.

Dean is leaning way back against the cushions, looking fairly satisfied with his meal. He looks at me and shrugs, "Exorcism?"

"Wait a minute." Lindy interjects, quickly swallowing what's left of her sandwich, "How can you two perform an exorcism when you're not priests?"

Dean grins, "You don't think we're Father Dean and Father Sam?"

Lindy gives him a level look in return that says she doesn't think he's being particularly funny and would rather he just spill. Dean continues to grin anyway.

"We were ordained online." he admits, reaching over and taking one of Lindy's fries.

"You're kidding." she says it like she's sure.

Dean's starting to look suspiciously like a kid that's gotten away with stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. He shakes his head, his grin actually reaching his eyes. Most of the time he's just trying to weasel things out of people and his smiles are fake. This one's real. I know my brother well enough that it's easy for me to tell the difference.

"That's insane!" Lindy protests.

"Anyone can do it. It's really easy. Twenty bucks and you're all set to do exorcisms, marriages, whatever." Dean insists.

"If I were Catholic, I'd be really depressed right now." Lindy remarks.

I hate to interrupt their conversation, but they're both avoiding the real issue. We need a plan for facing this thing that we don't know how to kill, but we do know will use our fears against us. Dean may be okay with charging in there with guns blazing, making the rest up as he goes, but I want to think this through a little before we put our lives in danger. Especially with Lindy along for the ride.

So, I once again find myself being the voice of reason, so to speak, "Guys, we really need to figure out how we're going to handle this thing."

"Any brilliant ideas, college boy?" Dean immediately challenges me.

"Well, I was thinking that we should probably figure out what fears this thing will most likely use against us and try to manipulate that as much as we can. And we should probably avoid letting it use fears that involve living people dying." I look pointedly at Dean, knowing that one of his greatest fears is losing me and Dad. I don't particularly want to have that fear realized.

"No offense, but I don't really feel up to sharing my deepest, darkest fears with you guys. I mean, I like you both and all, but I've only known you guys a day." Lindy says honestly, leaning back and crossing her arms across her chest as if to block us out.

"Yeah, I vote no to sharing, too." Dean agrees.

I sigh heavily. I should have known that never of them would agree with me that as much as we might not want to share our inner fears with each other, the pressing danger is more important. I especially should have expected that Dean would be against this. Dean's spent his whole life avoiding talking about his feelings. I suppose that's because Dad didn't raise us to be the sharing type. Emotions just got in the way of the hunt, made you reckless. But they are also unavoidable, so, solution, keep them buried deep down inside and don't talk about them. That's how Winchesters function: don't talk about it and hope that all the problems will go away.

"Look, we know this thing is going to make our fears materialize. We can either talk about this now and prepare for them or we can be surprised by them later." I try to explain it to them.

"Sammy, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I've got a couple dark scenarios bubbling in my brain. What makes you think that we'll be able to pick the one that this demon will use?" Dean stubbornly continues to argue with me.

"Well, Dean, it feeds on fear so I'm assuming it'll use the ones that provoke the most fear."

"Smart ass." Dean grumbles, "I'm still not doing this."

I'm almost surprised not to hear him add 'and you can't make me.' It looks like I'm going to have to compromise.

"Fine, can we just figure out whose fears involve other people dying? I'm thinking we might want to avoid that."

Dean doesn't say anything which is as close to agreement as I'm going to get out of him at the moment. I already know that his fear do involve death so there's no point in pushing it any further with him. I turn to Lindy, questioningly.

"Me?" she seems startled that the focus has turned to her so abruptly. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "Well, no, not _other_ people, necessarily."

She looks down at her hands and I get that her fears involve her own death.

"Gee, Sam, you were right. This is fun." Dean snaps.

I meet his glare with one of my own. It's not my fault this sucks. I didn't ask for a fear demon to appear. I didn't even pick this hunt. Dean was the one who had singled this out as possibly "our kind of problem." I open my mouth to yell at him, call him an asshole for pinning this on me, but I think better of it at the last second. Blowing up at Dean in public is probably not the best way to maintain a low profile. So, I get up and walk outside before I can change my mind.

Damn, Dean. Does he really believe that if we don't talk about our fears, they can't hurt us? I know that's the Winchester way, but he can't really believe it's true. Just because I'm not that naïve doesn't mean that this is all my fault for bringing it up.

I pace back and forth in front of the diner, my fists clenching and unclenching as I slowly work through my anger at my brother. I glance back inside to see him leaning forward across the table, talking to Lindy. Probably apologizing to her, making himself look like the good guy and making me look like the jerk. God, it's all I can do to stop myself from kicking his precious car.

But no, I need to calm down. Dean is an ass, I know that. That hasn't changed since we were kids. I just can't let him piss me off like this. I should have known better than to press an issue like this. Dean's never nice when it comes to facing his fears or even admitting that he has them. I should have expected that he'd lash out, been prepared for it. It's his coping mechanism. I shouldn't have let it get to me. I take a few deep breaths and stop pacing. This demon is already being a pain in the ass.

Well, at least I know now that I've got to be the one to face it. I'm the only one of the three of us whose fears don't involve the death of people currently living. Jessica and Mom are already gone.

I turn and head back into the diner rather than sulk outside waiting. When I reach the table, Dean is sitting there alone.

"Where's Lindy?" I ask.

"Bathroom." Dean replies.

He's casually finishing off her fries like nothing's happened. I guess I'll play along since I don't really want to continue fighting. I sit back down across from Dean.

"So how was your hissy fit?"

"Just let it go, Dean."

"Whatever you want, Samantha."

He's pushing my buttons on purpose now. I won't give him the satisfaction of getting angry. So I ignore him and wait impatiently for Lindy to return. Thankfully, she doesn't take too long, preventing Dean from pushing me any further.

"Oh, hey, Sam." she says, looking between Dean and me and obviously noticing the almost tangible tension.

I scoot over so that she can sit down, wishing that the few remaining hours until dark would pass more quickly. Not that I'm looking forward to this hunt, but the sooner we get this over with the better. Besides, Dean's less grumpy when there's a demon around threatening his life. Pre-hunt Dean is just a pain in the ass. Which makes Dean a pain in the ass ninety-nine percent of the time.

Nobody's saying anything, which is making this extremely awkward. Mattie returns with the bill, but apparently notices the negativity and quickly heads off without a word. Lindy finally breaks the silence by snatching the bill slip before Dean can get his hands on it.

"I've got this." she announces.

"You don't have to." Dean protests.

"Yeah, our part is most of it and Dean ate half your food anyway." I agree.

"No, I'm paying. Think of it as a thank you for not letting me walk into this alone." she says as she quickly slides out of the booth and heads over to the counter to pay before Dean or I can say anything more to the contrary.

"That's our second meal today that she's paid for." Dean muses, "Maybe you were right to pick her up, Sammy."

"It's Sam." I grumble, knowing as I do so that it's futile to point this out to Dean. No matter how many times I tell him I don't want to be called Sammy anymore, he'll keep doing it. He claims it's his older brother privilege. I think he just likes to be annoying.

"Too bad we'll be leaving town tomorrow." Dean continues, ignoring me.

I stop mentally griping about the many ways Dean is irritating and consider his words. Dean's already written off our relationship with Lindy as one of those odd, brief friendships we sometimes have with people while we're in town on a hunt. They're nice, but they don't really last. We won't call, we won't write. Maybe we might run into each other someday in the future, but it won't be because of any conscious effort on our part. It makes me upset to think that we've accumulated so many relationships of this variety. It's part of what I hate about this kind of life. I hate not being able to connect with people for more than a day. I want lasting relationships, enduring ones. I want more people in my life than just Dean and Dad (as if Dad even counts right now considering his constant absence). Hunting is important, sure, but I don't want it to be my whole life. I want to avenge Jessica, avenge Mom. But when that's over, I want a life of my own. And I want that for the rest of my family, too. Problem is, I can't see Dean understanding that. He doesn't seem to get why it's so important to have people he can trust other than his family. Maybe it was kind of rash and irrational, but I was kind of hoping that maybe Lindy could help him see that. She just seems like maybe the kind of girl for the job: someone who gets what he does, but won't let it consume him. But maybe I'm getting too far ahead of myself. The demon is still out there. We still have a job to do before even I can consider a somewhat normal life. I can't expect any more from Dean.

"Yeah, too bad." I agree quietly.

Dean looks up at my words and gives me a searching look, but I avoid his eyes and look out the window. We still have time to kill.

"Alright, boys. What now?" Lindy asks, appearing back at the table.

I keep my eyes on the sky outside. I don't really have an opinion on what to do next since it will only be a distraction to try and keep us from going nuts while we wait for the sun to disappear.

"Well, we've got a couple more hours to go before we need to drive back out. I can think of a few ways to keep us entertained." Dean says, his voice dripping with innuendo.

Lindy surprises me by not missing a beat, "But what will Sam do?"

I can't resist glancing over at Dean who seems a little surprised himself. Lindy sure has turned things around from when we met her the night before, blushing and hardly saying two words. It's clear though that this is her naturally, that she was off her game before, so to speak.

Dean quickly recovers, "I'll buy him a book."

I catch Lindy giving him a sarcastically sweet smile out of the corner of my eye, "I don't know. Couple hours is a long time. Maybe I'll need a book, too."

"Trust me, you won't need it, sweetheart." Dean replies, immediately, eyebrows raised suggestively.

I can't stop myself from making a face, "If you two are going to keep flirting, I'm gonna wait in the car."

"Be out in a minute, Sam." Dean answers without even looking at me.

I make a disgusted noise, but Lindy laughs and rolls her eyes, "Come on, Sam. You can drive my car again, if you want."

She moves out of the way so that I can slide back out of the booth and hands me her keys. Without waiting for either of us, she starts for the door, glancing back at us over her shoulder.

"Coming?" she asks.

I nod, noticing Dean nodding quickly also. He hurriedly gets up.

"Hey, Sam. Not that I ever need your help with women, but…nice one." he says before striding after her.

I shake my head, but I'm barely suppressing a smile. At least he's happy. It seems like momentary happiness is the most we can expect for now. I just wish it didn't have to come at the expense of hard goodbyes tomorrow. And that's assuming we make it through tonight.


	13. Chapter 13

I can't believe I just said that! Holy crap, I just flirted with the hottest guy I've ever met and didn't end up blushing like an idiot. Maybe I'm finally figuring this whole flirting thing out.

I push on the door to go out to the cars and it doesn't budge. My eyes find a sign near the handle that says pull and I realize that I'm still an idiot. So much for my exit. Maybe no one noticed.

I quickly pull open the door and walk outside. I wonder for a moment if I should ride with Dean or Sam. Dean will definitely keep me distracted from worrying about tonight, but Sam…well, Sam's got this hurt puppy dog look on his face that makes me want to give him a hug. Sam just seems so tragic. I wish I knew more about these guys, but I don't really know how to ask. I mean, you can't just ask someone to give you a run-down of their life. Especially when they know next to nothing about you, too.

I pause and wait for the boys to catch up. They soon join me outside, Dean with his usual swagger and Sam walking behind him at a slower pace, dragging his feet. Dean immediately moves to the driver's door of his shiny, black Impala. He plops down in the driver's seat and immediately turns up the radio. He grins at me and gives me a questioning look. I hold up one finger and hurry over to Sam. He's still fumbling with my keys, sorting out my car key.

"Hey, Sam." I say quietly, staying a few feet away so as not to encroach on his space.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Are you okay?" I venture.

Sam takes a deep breath, eyes still focused on the car door before turning to face me, "I'm fine. I'm just not really looking forward to this, you know?"

I nod, but I'm fairly certain that he's only telling me a half-truth. I wonder if I should push it, but decide not to. Instead, against all my better journalist judgment, I decide to just up and say what I'm wondering, "Look, Sam, do you want to talk about it or do you just want to be left alone?"

Sam gives me a sad smile like he appreciates the sentiment, but I can already tells that he's going to say no, that he doesn't want to talk. True to my prediction, Sam slowly shakes his head, "I'm okay, Lindy. Really. I think Dean's waiting for you."

I know a dismissal when I hear one, so I nod and retreat. I mentally shrug to myself. Can't fix the whole world's problems, Lindy. Might as well settle for trying to finish what you've started here. Maybe it's for the best anyway. I'm not really good with the touchy-feely stuff. I'm alright at getting people to spill their guts, but comforting them afterwards doesn't usually come with the territory. Besides, I don't really know Sam. I shouldn't presume to have any right to have him confide in me.

I open the passenger door of the Impala and settle into the comfortable leather. The artful guitar of Allman Brothers' music persuades me to let it go. Besides, Dean is still grinning at me.

"Don't worry. Sammy's almost always like that." he reassures me.

"If you say so."

"So, back to the motel?"

"Sure."

"Sleep with me?"

My eyes snap up to Dean's face. Did he just say what I think he just said?

"What?" I demand.

He shrugs, "Figured as long as you're agreeing with everything it was worth a shot."

My breath escapes me in a surprised huff. I'll say one thing for Dean, he can never be described as shy.

"You're…incorrigible." I finally reply, unable to think of another word to better characterize him.

Dean's smile becomes a little uncertain and I wonder, in a brief flash of amusement, if he knows what that means, "Uh…thanks?"

"No, seriously, Dean, what do you want to do for the next couple hours?" I ask. He opens his mouth to reply so I hastily add, "Besides that."

Deans smiles guiltily and pauses to actually think about the question, "Well, we've got a couple hours before dark when we have to face our newest version of evil…I'm thinking take a nap."

I can't completely suppress a laugh, the suggestion is so ridiculous. A nap? He can't seriously believe he'll be able to sleep at a time like this. But he's not laughing. Smiling, but not laughing or grinning like he's made a joke.

"You're serious?" I ask, "You're going to sleep?"

Dean shrugs with the arm he's not using to steer, "Why not? I hunt better when I'm well-rested."

"But…but…how can you even think about sleeping? I mean, don't you feel…I don't know, wound up?" I stammer in my surprise.

"Nope." Dean says.

Now his smile is almost one of amusement at me. It's the kind of smile I use to get when I first starting working at the magazine and would get really excited about a new story. The more senior writers would give me that smile that said something like 'How cute, a novice.' It's kind of degrading, but it never stopped me from being excited. New stories are exciting. When they stop being exciting, that's when I'll have to start thinking about another career.

"Well, I can't sleep. Maybe I'll start writing my article."

"That sounds thrilling." Dean says sarcastically, "Then, maybe when you're done you and Sam can play Scrabble."

"Are you calling me boring, Mr. Naptime?" I wonder.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Dean replies without pause.

We're almost to the motel now since this town is as diminutive as they come and Dean doesn't exactly drive slow. Then again, you don't own a car like this to drive slow.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yep."

"Just wondering, but…what does a person have to do to get you to let them drive this car?"

Dean sort of freezes, tensing up in his seat. Both hands move to the wheel almost protectively.

"My car?" he asks.

"Yeah." I nod, amused at how much the question seems to have unsettled him. It's fairly obvious he's pretty attached to it.

"Well…" Dean begins slowly, careful with his words, "I'd have to trust you with my life. Or maybe you'd have to save my life a few times. And be a really good driver. And…"

"Okay, I got it, not a chance in hell." I save him any further discomfort. I make sure to smile while I say it so he won't think I'm upset or anything, "But it's a really nice car."

"I know." Dean says, his grin back.

He pulls into the parking lot and lets the engine idle for a moment before shutting it off, almost as if he's relishing in the sounds of his precious car. I barely keep myself from rolling my eyes. Guys and their cars. I've never really understood it. I've never really cared about cars, myself, but I have to admit, if I was going to be crazy about a car, it would be Dean's. Even I can't deny that the Impala is just cool.

I get out of the car and notice my own vehicle pulling up. I feel like I'm betraying the poor little Mercury, but it really can't compete. In fact, even the noises its engine is making are pathetic and, frankly, a little disturbing in comparison. I frown as I wonder yet again if I should give up on it and try to find myself another car. Then, I think of my income and remind myself that I can't afford one. Besides, I'm attached to the green Mercury and it hasn't really ever let me down before. Well, besides that time it stalled on the freeway. And the time the air conditioning broke in the summer in Phoenix. And when the windshield wipers froze up in Seattle. Well, I'm still attached to the damn car regardless.

I meet Sam as he climbs out of the driver door, "Can I have my keys, please?"

Sam wordlessly drops them into my hand.

"Thanks." I say before moving around to the passenger side, unlocking the door and fishing out my laptop. Sam's looking at me curiously, "Figured I'd start on my article."

"Cool." Sam says, brightening a little bit, "Maybe I can help?"

"Sure." I agree, happy to have a fresh perspective, "Does that mean it's okay for me to hang out with you guys until we leave?"

"'Course." Sam says immediately, looking a little surprised that I even asked, "Come on."

I follow Sam, noting to myself that he seems a little better than when we left the diner. I wonder what went through his head on the drive over.

Dean's already opened the motel room door to the boys' room, leaving it open behind him for Sam. When I enter, I notice Dean sprawled out on top of his bed, arms behind his head, eyes closed.

"Asleep already?" I ask.

He smiles and opens one eye, patting the bed next to him, "Waiting for you, babe."

"Yeah, right." I agree sarcastically with a smile.

I drop onto Sam's bed after a quick search for loose springs. The boys seemed to have gotten a better room than me. I pull my legs up, crossing them in front of me and place my laptop on top of them. I open it up and turn it on. Sam takes a seat next to me, watching my computer screen as my desktop loads. I quickly open a word document so that he won't have too much time to inspect the wallpaper of one of my dorkier favorite TV shows.

"Well, I guess I should start at the beginning, huh?" I muse out loud as I begin to type quickly about the reports of the disappearances and the rumors about the town that brought both me and the Winchester boys out to this place. The feeling of Sam reading over my shoulder as I type is a little disconcerting, but I can ignore it. I continue to type, moving on to a description of the ghost town that is as elaborate as possible, hopefully communicating the major league creepiness of Fort Tucker.

"You can't do that." Sam pipes up.

I frown, pausing in mid-sentence, "What?"

"You can't use poltergeist as a synonym for ghost. They're different." Sam points out with annoying accuracy.

"I know that." I grumble, "But how many other ways can I possible say ghost town?"

The wheels almost visibly turn as Sam thinks about that problem. Finally, he shrugs, smiling apologetically. I feel somewhat satisfied that he can't think of anything else either. Sometimes being a little repetitive is unavoidable in this line of work. Synonyms for the paranormal are a little scanty. Especially when you're being technical. I backspace and take out poltergeist, changing it to specter. Sam still had a point.

I relax and feel myself settling into "journalist mode." My fingers tapping on the keys becomes almost rhythmic as I get caught up in writing. I can't do too much with the story just yet since we have yet to discover or face much, but I can at least communicate the journey to this point and introduce the two new players in this ghost hunt. Sam remains quiet next to me until I run out of things to say. My fingers continue to run over the keys as my mind reviews the activity of the past couple days, searching my brain for anything I may have neglected. Finally, I give up and turn to look at Sam.

"Well, what do you think so far?" I wonder.

I always love constructive feedback and Sam seems like a good source for such.

"It's really good. You're a great writer, Lindy." Sam says, looking impressed.

I feel myself redden a little bit at the praise. I look back down at my computer and quietly reply, "Thanks. I'd like to know what kind of readings Dean got on the EMF, though. And if you want to add anything…"

My voice trails off as my eyes find the clock on the bottom of my screen. More time has passed than I'd realized.

"How much longer do you think, Sam?" I ask.

Sam looks down at his watch, then gets up and draws the curtain back from the window to look outside. I look past him to see the sun hanging low in the sky, the radiant colors of sunset beginning to fill the space around it.

"Let's get Dean up." he says, looking back at me, "We should go."


	14. Chapter 14

Once again my peaceful slumber is interrupted. I'm beginning to think that's the story of my life. At least this time it's not Sam's annoyingly persistent voice penetrating my sleep haze. This time it's a soft feminine voice and I wonder briefly if I've gone home with someone. A smile pulls at my mouth at that thought before my brain chugs back to life and recognizes the voice as Lindy's. The smile remains though as I think about what she might do if I just reached up and pulled her into bed with me.

My thoughts are stilled by the feeling of Lindy leaning close over me and the tingle of her breath against my ear. She whispers, "Dean, Sam and I borrowed your car. He said it would be okay, but…Dean, there was this deer…"

I know she's lying, but I can't stop the immediate feeling of panic that hits me at the thought of Sam crashing my car. My eyes snap open, "You're lying."

She smiles, still leaning close to me, "Yeah, but man are you predictable."

I hear Sam snort in the background and frown at both of them, pushing myself up a little on the pillows "Am not."

"Are, too." she argues.

"Am not." I insist.

"Oh, come on, Dean." she insists, "I've known you a day and I already knew you'd freak out if I told you the car was totaled, even if you didn't believe me."

My frown deepens to a scowl. I immediately decide that I'd better get this idea out of her mind before it settles in. So, I follow through on my previous idea. I grab both her arms and pull her towards me. She cries out in surprise as she falls over me onto the bed next to me. Almost on instinct, I turn towards her, lean over her and kiss her. I don't really know why. It just seems like the thing to do. It's probably a bad idea, though, considering that despite what Sam said or what I've thought, she's not really my type. My type is the kind of girl I can walk away from and, preferably, who I won't feel too bad about walking away from and who won't feel too bad about it themselves either. Lindy's not that kind of girl. It's easy to tell that about her. She's the kind of girl who, if I got involved with her, wouldn't let me walk away. She's much too stubborn.

I hear Sam protesting, reminding me that he's still here, but what do I care? I'm just kissing her. It's not like we're having sex. Sam can be so childish sometimes. And to think he calls me immature.

But all that's only what I'm thinking in the back of my mind. The majority of my attention is focused on the blonde reporter I'm currently making out with. I can feel her utter surprise at first, then her shyness, but finally, and best of all, her desire. God, why again was it I ever had a problem with bringing her along?

Slowly, I pull away feeling pretty damn satisfied, "Predictable my ass."

Lindy doesn't say anything, lying almost frozen in place. Her eyes are still partly closed, mouth open slightly. She looks stunned, which I find fairly amusing, but also gratifying. I've still got it.

"Can we go now?" Sam whines.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and get up, "Alright, alright. Don't get your panties in a twist, Sammy."

Sam sends me a quick glare, as expected, before heading out to the cars. I glance back at Lindy out of the corner of my eye and notice her sitting up on the bed, her hand held up to her mouth. A smirk appears on my face, but I quickly bury it, replacing it with a more reasonable and less slap-inducing smile before I turn around. I cock my head to one side as I ask, "Ready to go?"

Her hand immediately drops back to her side and she straightens her posture as if to erase any trace of her "moment of weakness." I can visibly see in her face the emotions being pushed to the side and a calm determination emerging as she focuses on the job. Finally, she meets my eyes and nods.

"Alright. Let's go kill this bitch." I encourage, gesturing for her to proceed me out of the room.

She jumps up and heads outside. I wonder if she's going to say anything about that kiss, but she doesn't. Maybe she's pretending it didn't happen. Maybe she's just focused on what's ahead of us. That's probably a good idea. I turn my own thoughts to the demon in the ghost town. I wonder what's attracted it to this little cesspit of a town in the middle of nowhere. Not that it really matters. Besides, questioning the motives of the supernatural can sometimes be more trouble than its worth.

So, a fear demon, huh? Funny, besides Dad's little entry and Lindy's knowledge, the most I've heard about fear demons is from Buffy. Too bad I can't really expect ours to be only a few inches tall and to be able to kill it by squishing it with my shoe. Damn that show and it's inaccurate, but incredibly entertaining portrayals.

I wonder how much control we'll have with this thing. Will we be able to manipulate which fears it can tap into? If I focus really hard on being afraid of something harmless, will I be able to maybe convince it to manifest that thing? Maybe it's worth a shot. Kind of optimistic and unrealistic on my part, but worth a shot. I'd much rather fight like a bowl of Jell-O than…well, anything more capable of hurting me. Then again, it might try to drown me in the Jell-O and that would really suck. I hate Jell-O. And how would I kill Jell-O anyway? Huh maybe this'll require a little more thought.

Outside, Sam and Lindy are standing between the two cars again, apparently deciding on driving arrangements. I think it's pretty dumb to mess with two cars and decide to tell them as much, "Let's just all take the Impala. There's no reason to take both cars."

Lindy nods and Sam moves around towards the passenger side of my car. But Lindy heads for her own vehicle and unlocks the trunk.

"Give me a second to get a few things." her voice is muffled by the metal between us.

Curious about what she feels necessary to bring along, I walk over and peer around the trunk to see what she's getting. She holding a backpack and rummaging through a ton of junk for something. An EMF reader emerges from the depths and is quickly added to the backpack, soon followed by a recorder and what I recognize as her camera bag. I also don't fail to notice, although she does it very quickly as if she's trying to hide the fact that she's doing it at all, that she checks on a small pocket knife that's in her backpack. Looks like a switchblade, too, if I'm not completely losing it. My eyes widen a little at the knowledge that she carries a weapon in her backpack. I'm liking her a little more every minute. Now, if she only knew how to shoot…

She closes the trunk and I'm caught in the midst of snooping. She jumps when she sees me and I offer her a somewhat guilty, but hardly apologetic look.

"Has anyone ever told you not to lurk? It's creepy." she comments, shouldering her backpack and starting towards my car.

"Hey, creepy's what I do." I protest, following her lead and turning back to the Impala.

I settle into my familiar spot behind the wheel. I love how comfortable and familiar the Impala is. This car is more like home than anything. And now with my brother next to me and a pretty girl along for the ride, I'm kind of happy despite the fact that we're headed out to face a demon. If Dad were here, it'd be perfect.

I glance back at Lindy in the backseat. She looks kind of lost in her own thoughts, which may not be a good thing. If she freaks herself out before we even get there, she'll be useless.

"So, Lindy, what do you want to listen to on the drive out to the boonies?" I ask her.

She glances up at me and is about to reply when Sam butts in, "Hey, what happened to 'driver picks the music and shotgun shuts up?'"

"One, she's not shotgun and two, I'm a gentleman." Sam snorts at that remark so I glare at him before I continue, "_She_ doesn't have to shut up, just you." Now that Sam's been put back in his place and is glaring petulantly at me, I turn back to Lindy, "So, what would you like?"

She's smiling now so I feel like my mission to keep her from over-thinking has been accomplished. She thinks for a moment before she requests, "Lynyrd Skynyrd?"

"Right. Sam, dig that out for her, will you? I haven't listened to any Skynyrd in a while so it's probably on the bottom." I instruct as I turn my attention to backing the car out of the lot and turning on to the road.

Sam sighs like he's Cinderella and I'm both ugly stepsisters and the evil stepmother rolled into one before he reaches down and digs through the tapes. One of these days Sam's really going to have to lighten up. I mean, if he pouts any more his face'll get stuck like that. Or maybe it's already stuck and that's why he pouts so much! Have I solved the mystery of Sam? Oh my god, I'm a genius.

Sam emerges with the tape and grumpily pushes it into the player before slumping back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest. He looks out the window, boredom plastered across his face, but I know him better. He's been using this same routine since he was seven and he still hasn't given up hope that if he sulks long enough I'll get tired of it and give in to what he wants. It's really annoying, but I'm pretty damn stubborn, so good luck with that, Sam. Besides, if I just ignore him he'll eventually snap out of it and start thinking about some ways to deal with this human-hording, fear-sucking bitch.

The familiar strains of 'Sweet Home, Alabama' blasts out of my speakers and no matter how hard I try, it's just impossible not to at least mouth the words to the chorus. I hear Lindy faintly singing along behind me, as well. And to my surprise, I catch Sam grudgingly mouthing the words after the second repeat of the chorus, too. I smile to myself and try to keep relaxed. I can already feel myself instinctually getting ready for a fight, but I fight it off. I don't want to let myself go into "hunter mode" until the last possible second. That way I can conserve my energy for when it really counts. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.

So, I let the sounds of southern rock distract me for the time it takes to drive to Fort Tucker. As I do, I notice the sun setting in my rearview mirror. Orange smears slowly retract from the sky, giving way to the purples and blues of dusk. In my mind I imagine it's like the sun is hanging on for dear life, the orange tendrils in the sky, the tracks left by its fingers as it is dragged away behind the horizon to meet some dark fate. But that's a little morbid so I force that thought from my brain and instead try to think of the sunset as something picturesque and beautiful. It's hard to hold on to that sentimental crap, though, when your subconscious keeps spitting out more fears that you thought you didn't have that could possibly put you and your brother and the girl you picked up along the way in danger. Although, I wouldn't really call them fears so much as worries. They're not the same. I'm not afraid of death. It happens all the time. I see it all the time. I've looked it in the face, even. Doesn't mean I'm willing to let it happen to me or mine. Doesn't mean I'm not going to do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. And all those things trying to do just that, to put me or my family in the ground, I'm not afraid of those things. I'm just kind of apprehensive about them, about the possibilities for tragedy they present. Because if I can't pull off the hero bit someday and Dad, Sam, or even someone I've just met like Lindy ends up dead, I don't know how well I'll take it. Actually, I can't really even think about life without Dad or Sam. But it's not because I'm afraid. Dean Winchester is not afraid of being alone. I can't be afraid of that because it's not an option.

"Dean?"

I almost jump at the sound of Sam's voice and curse myself for letting my guard down.

"Yeah."

"I think I've got a plan."

I don't like how he says that. It sounds like the kind of plan that involves something I won't like and knowing Sam it'll probably entail reckless endangerment of his life. But I won't jump to conclusions. Maybe he actually has a good idea for once.

"Okay." I say slowly, waiting for him to continue.

Sam takes a deep breath before turning to look at me. I don't like the look on his face either. That look plus that tone of voice equal Sam being extremely stupid.

"I think I need to face this alone." Sam finally says.

It takes every ounce of will power I possess not to slam on the brakes. My hands tighten around the steering wheel and I grind my teeth together.

"Dean?" Sam presses, "I think it's the only way."

"I don't want to hear it, Sam!" I finally snap.

Silence, broken only by the sounds of 'Simple Man' and the roar of the engine, descends on the car. Why does Sam do this to me? Is he deliberately trying to piss me off? What makes him think I'm going to stand by and let him face a demon by himself? Even when we had the plane demon, I wouldn't let him go alone. You'd think he'd have figured out how this is going to work by now.

"Why do you think you need to face it alone, Sam?"

Lindy's voice almost makes me jerk around to look at her in disbelief. What does it matter what Sam's dumbass reasoning is? It's a stupid idea. I'm about to tell her as much when Sam launches into his explanation.

"My fears don't involve the death of living people whereas both of yours do and I think that I can control it. At least enough to get this thing to manifest so that you guys can kill it." Sam says quickly.

"You keep saying that, Sam, but we both know you're full of shit." I growl because I know as well as he does that he's terrified that he's the cause of Mom's and Jessica's deaths, but also that he's doomed to have everyone he ever gets close to drop dead, too.

"We've lured evil things like that before." Sam changes the subject.

"It's not the same, Sam." I insist, "This is a demon. Not Bloody Mary or some angry ghost. This is different."

"No, it's not, Dean." Sam refuses to listen.

"Damn it, Sam! Why can't you ever just listen? You wouldn't listen to Dad and now you won't even listen to me." escapes me before I can stop myself.

Now Sam looks as angry as I feel, "Alright, Dean. What's your brilliant idea?"

"We go in together, we stick together." I respond almost automatically.

"And then we can end up fighting all three of our fears? Great idea, Dean." Sam retorts.

My knuckles are turning white on the wheel, "Sam, if you don't shut the hell up right now…" I can't even finish the threat.

Sam glares at me, but he doesn't say anything. Thankfully, Fort Tucker comes into view before too long, saving me from having to argue much more with Sam while in a moving vehicle. Not to mention the fact that the more we argue, the faster I'm going. I lighten up on the gas and then pull to a stop in almost the exact same spot as before. Without waiting for either Sam or Lindy, I get out, slamming my door and head for the trunk. I start arming myself with anything and everything I can think of. Since this thing can manifest anything I'll need to be prepared for anything.

I feel someone standing behind me and glance over my shoulder. It's Lindy.

"Dean, I'm sorry." she says, her soft voice and hesitant demeanor reminding me of when I first met her.

I turn my attention back to my weapons, "Not now, Lindy."

Lindy obstinately persists by moving around me into my line of vision. She follows my gaze down towards the stash of various hunting must-haves.

"You're right." she says, surprising me by agreeing with me, "Fight the bad guy now, talk later, right?"

"Right." I agree. My eyes scan the remaining weapons for something to give Lindy. The .22 catches my eye. Sam usually carries it, but he can take any of the rest of the guns and use them just as effectively. So, I give Lindy the gun. She doesn't even try to protest this time, just takes it wordlessly. Then, another idea comes to me and I pull out a pair of daggers that Dad gave me when I was fifteen. I hand them to her, as well. I hope that she knows what she's doing with that switchblade in her backpack and that she can handle the daggers, too. Maybe she'll even find them better than the gun since she didn't look particularly thrilled about the gun I gave her earlier.

I watch her carefully as she pulls one of the daggers from its sheath. She inspects the blade with a look on her face that makes me think that she may know what she's looking at.

"My dad had this thing with pocket knives." she says as she stares at the shining stainless steel, "He used to give me new ones all the time for birthdays and stuff. He was an outdoorsy guy, liked to whittle. But I was a punk kid and I thought the bigger knives were more cool. So, I bought myself some less practical ones from the Knife Shop like throwing daggers. Dad thought it was stupid, but made sure that I knew what I was doing with any blade I brought into his house. I was still his daughter, after all." She looks up at me and smiles grimly, "I don't think he had this in mind, though."

I feel her regret and apprehension, but I'm inwardly kind of thrilled that she's good with knives. At least she won't be completely defenseless. Maybe she'll actually come in handy. Still, I feel like I should say something, "It'll be okay."

She continues to smile at me with that same somewhat nihilistic smile, letting me know that sees right through me, "Don't get your hopes up. I'm not a ninja or anything. Just a reporter who had a weird hobby when she was a kid."

I'm about to say something witty like "Hey, weird is good" when Sam shoves roughly past me to get to the trunk. I guess he got tired of waiting. I look at his back as he picks and chooses, not really angry anymore, but no less determined to keep him from being careless. Sam's quick to arm himself, slamming the trunk shut after only a minute. I wince on the Impala's behalf and mentally apologize to her, promising her that Sam doesn't mean it. Gotta keep the getaway vehicle happy, after all. Sam turns to face us, his face unreadable.

"Okay." I say, "Let's stay close."

I can't tell if Sam's really listening to me, but we don't have time to dispute it anymore. I just hope that he'll follow my lead and this won't be as bad as I'm imagining.


	15. Chapter 15

Everything about this place sets off alarms in my head. During the day it was manageable, but now it's like there's a fire alarm going off inside my brain. And yet the presence of my brother and even Lindy is calming, steadying. So I don't hesitate to follow Dean as he leads us towards the building.

Despite myself, I wish Dad were here. Dad always seems to know what to do and although I think he's the last one who should be giving orders about how to live my life, he's the first one I'd look to for orders when it comes to how to fight a demon. I just can't help it.

I try to think of a way to keep my brother and Lindy from following me into the demon's lair, but it's kind of a lost cause. If they don't want to listen to me, there's nothing I can do about it. I can't exactly lock them in the car.

"Hey, Sam." Dean draws my attention. I look at him and he's got his 'I've just thought of something hilarious that I have to share with you now even though now's really not the time for jokes' face on, "I figured it out. I'm going to be on a plane, piloted by the dryer sheet bear, crashing into the Impala."

"That's not funny." I respond.

At the same time Lindy asks, "You mean Snuggle?"

Dean shrugs, "That thing's evil." he says simply, "And it creeps me out a little."

We're standing in front of the door to the building so we all kind of drop the subject without any of us voicing a word to do so. Everything is terribly quiet. The kind of quiet where you feel like you should scream or something just to interrupt it. I exchange a quick glance with Dean that communicates how we're going to enter the building. Dean goes first, gun drawn and ready. I follow right behind, sweeping the other corner of the room for anything and covering Dean's back. Lindy follows and I notice that her hands are clutching the hilts of the daggers that Dean let her borrow which she has strapped to her sides. I'm a little surprised that she's not clutching her camera like earlier today. In the face of everything she seems to almost have forgotten it, despite the fact that she's still wearing a backpack which I'm sure contains it. That's probably for the best, though. Cameras are generally not too helpful when it comes to stopping something bent on taking your life.

The shop looks way creepier in the dark. The shelves lining the store are just dim suggestions of shapes in the gloom. I pull a flashlight out of my pocket, holding it in one hand and my gun in the other. Dean snaps on a flashlight, too, and after a moment of Lindy searching through her backpack, she produces one as well. Three small beams sway across the room, sometimes crisscrossing as they highlight the gaping emptiness. After searching through the entire front room for something and finding nothing, I slowly start forward towards the room behind the counter.

Almost predictably, as soon as the three of us step away from the door, it slams shut on its own. Lindy runs back to the door and pulls on the handle, but, as usual, it won't budge. Dean's flashlight is on her and it illuminates the expression on her face as she turns back to face us and this room. Her eyes are very wide.

"It's okay. That happens." Dean says, lowering his flashlight to the floor, "Let's go."

Lindy nods quickly, her hands slowly releasing the door knob and returning to the hilts of Dean's daggers. The three of us each take a different aisle between the shelves and converge on the counter. The creaking of our feet on the floorboards is the only noise in this unnatural silence. My instincts keep screaming at me that this thing is going to attack at any second, not to let my guard down even a fraction just because the only sign of paranormal activity so far has been the door slamming.

Both Dean and my guns' settle on the door to the backroom as we reach the counter. The door is closed, keeping us from seeing what, if anything, waits beyond it. I'm closest to the break in the counter, so I move around and approach the door first.

"Sam, wait for me." Dean orders, as he slowly moves along the counter, gun still trained on the door.

I ignore him and push the door with my foot. It swings open with surprising responsiveness, not so much as a creak from the hinges. The absence of such a tell-tale noise stands out to me, seeming unusual given the state of disuse this whole town is in. I glance quickly over my shoulder, and see both Dean and Lindy hurrying towards me.

"Sam!" Dean is yelling at me, but I don't wait to hear what else he has to say. I continue through the door into the even deeper shadows beyond. My flashlight barely penetrates the haze, seeming barely able to fight off the heavy darkness weighing down upon it. I expect it, but I still jump when this door slams behind me, just like the front door. Vaguely, I can hear Dean yelling, but it sounds like he's really far away. I try not to let that distract me, instead quickly searching the room with flashlight and gun for my adversary.

"_Sam…_"

The voice seems to seep through my skin and I can't pinpoint a source. I think maybe it's coming from the cellar, so I approach the trapdoor wearily.

"_Sam…_"

The voice seems to be trying to goad a response from me, but I ignore it, not letting my focus waver.

"_When will you learn, Sam?_" the voice taunts me.

I can't help but wonder what it's talking about. Learn what?

"_Sam…when will you learn…you're fears always creep up on you from behind…_"

I realize too late what's going on. Even though I spin around as soon as the words reach me, I'm too late to stop the darkness from falling upon me from behind. My hand instinctively squeezes the trigger of my gun, but the shot flies off to the side as the darkness knocks my hand down. I feel myself falling backwards and I wait for my back to hit the ground. It seems to take forever, like I'm falling in slow motion. When it finally happens, my flashlight gets knocked out of my hand and rolls away. My last defense rolls away out of reach and the darkness doesn't hesitate to bury me, like the waves of the ocean. I yell for Dean, but the darkness comes crushing over my face and I feel the cry die in my throat. Then, the whole world is black.


	16. Chapter 16

"God damn, stupid, punk kid." Dean grumbles as he leaps over the counter and runs to the door.

But it's already slammed behind Sam and I can't help but wonder in the back of my mind if it's already too late. As soon as I realize that thought's in my head, I banish it. I won't think that.

"Sam! Damn it, Sam!" Dean yells, banging on the door, "Soon as I save your ass, I'm gonna kill you!"

When Sam doesn't immediately open the door and call Dean an idiot, he backs up and kicks the door. The door shakes from the force, but holds firm. Dean kicks again.

My eyes seem to take on a life of their own, roaming the room wildly, even though I don't move my flashlight from the door behind which Sam has vanished. It isn't till I notice the light provided by my flashlight's beam diminishing rapidly that my full attention returns to the door. A dark cloud seems to be oozing out from under the door frame.

"Dean!" I shout a warning, pointing frantically.

"Shit!" Dean yells, jumping back before the dark mist can reach his legs, "Sammy! You better hurry up and get the hell back out here!"

"_You've lost him, Dean. He's mine now…_"

I jump at the voice and whirl around looking for a source, but it doesn't really seem to be coming from anywhere. It's almost like it's seeping up from the floor around us like the growing black mist. Strangely, I can't decide what bothers me more: that there's a disembodied voice or that it knows Dean's name.

"Like hell." Dean growls, his eyes also searching, "Give him back, bitch!"

"_It's too late, Dean. You've lost your brother… Just like you lost your mother and your father…_"

"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy killing your ass." Dean snaps in reply, but he seems more defensive than anything. It hits me that this thing is getting to him; it's pulling out his fears.

"Dean…" I start to say, moving towards him.

But before I can move a step or finish getting his name out, something sends me flying backwards, away from him. I hit the wall at the far end of the counter with a loud thud and air rushes from my lungs. It all happens so fast I can't even think to scream. In fact, it takes a second after I hit the wall and slide to the floor for the fact of what has happened to register and the pain of it to reach my brain. I suck in a shallow breath and release it in a groan.

"_You're not a part of this, little girl…_" the voice hisses at me in irritation.

"What?" escapes my mouth, but it comes out sounding more like a cough.

Was this thing saying that this was all part of some kind of plan? Had it lured Sam and Dean here? And I was just an unforeseen consequence. What the hell is going on?

The mist is growing around Dean, pinning him against the counter. His flashlight is slack in his hand as if he's forgotten about it and his gun is slowly lowering towards the floor. I have to do something. I have to stop this. I struggle back to my feet, but I have no idea what I'm doing. Dean doesn't even seem aware that I'm still here and I'm afraid if I say something to draw his attention, I'll just get the demon's. How to snap Dean out of it… Oh, this is a stupid idea. But I don't have any ideas of any other varieties.

I pull my backpack around in front of me and pray that the impact with the wall didn't destroy everything inside. Unfortunately, upon opening the bag I'm first struck with what appear to be pieces of my equipment. I don't stop to think about it, pushing the pieces aside and digging out my camera bag. Carefully, I extract the camera which, thankfully, has survived thanks to the extra padding. I mount the large flash and aim at Dean. I snap a wild photo without even thinking. The flash is almost blinding.

"What the hell…?" I hear Dean say.

I wipe at my eyes to encourage them to adjust to the gloom faster, stumbling forward at the same time. My eyes stop blurring and Dean reappears in my vision. He sees me, the mist curling around his legs, and the door rimmed in deepening darkness that contains Sam. Something changes in his facial expression that I can't really name, but he quickly grabs my hand and we turn to sprint away from the dark cloud of demon.

"_Are you running away, Dean? What about your brother…_" the demon calls.

I see Dean's jaw clench, but he continues to pull me towards the front door. He only drops my hand for a second to take aim at the door handle and shoot. The door splinters where the bullet tears through it and when Dean kicks the door it grudgingly swings open.

"Come on." Dean orders, gesturing with his gun.

I don't wait for him to tell me twice. I hurry through the front door, Dean's right behind me. We only stop once we've reached the Impala. Moonlight bathes the town behind us in an eerie glow, but at least it's some kind of light. I feel safe again now that we're away from that room even if we're still in the town. But what about Sam?

"Dean?" I ask him.

He's staring back the way we've come as if replaying the action in his head. He only glances back at me for a second before returning his gaze to the store. I didn't think he was going to say anything, but he eventually answers. His voice sounds forced.

"Sam's a strong guy. He can hold this thing for awhile. Give us time." he says.

"Time for what?" I ask before I can think not to.

Now Dean spins around to face me. He looks furious, like I've just questioned him leaving his brother behind, accused him of something. I take a few steps back without thinking.

"Sam will be okay." he insists, his voice low, allowing no room for disagreement, "We just need to come up with a plan to get him out."

I don't say anything for a long moment, but I can't believe that he's seriously considering leaving Sam here. Not when that thing has him.

"So what are we going to do?" I ask quietly.

Dean's look of anger evaporates, replaced instantly with anxiety. It's obvious that he has no idea, no matter how much he may want to convince me otherwise. Suddenly, he begins fishing around in his pockets until he locates a cell phone. I can't even begin to imagine who he could be calling at a time like this. Yet, Dean is making a call, holding up the phone to his ear and pacing anxiously as he waits for an answer.

"Dad, this is Dean. You need to call me back, Dad. I…I lost Sammy. Something has him and I don't know how to get him back. I know we've said this before, Dad, but I really mean it this time. We need your help."

The whole conversation is quiet and I'm not sure whether Dean knows that I can hear him. Still, when he hangs up the phone, his eyes catch mine looking at him and he gives me the weakest reassuring smile I've ever seen.

"He'll call back." he says, but I'm not convinced in the slightest.

"So, what? We sit around and wait?" I can't help but yell. I'm freaking out and I can't stop it. We let that thing take Sam!

Dean looks at me like he's examining me. I can't keep my eyes focused on him. I keep sneaking glances back at the store. I feel my breath become short and shallow and wonder detachedly if I'm hyperventilating. I feel my vision go a little blurry at the edges and it takes me almost a full minute to put together that I'm crying. Frustrated, I force my eyes downward, inspecting the dirt at my feet. This can't have happened. We didn't lose Sam. I didn't just stand there and let it happen. I couldn't have been so useless, so helpless.

I jump when I feel Dean's hands on my shoulders.

"You need to listen to me and understand what I'm saying or I will drive you back to the motel and leave your ass there." he says in a voice that is surprisingly calm and controlled. It's almost as if my losing it has forced him not to. I nod weakly, still busy berating myself internally, "As annoying and hopeless as he is, I love my brother and I will not lose him. I also know that Sam can handle this demon. Whatever fears that thing is throwing at him, Sam's been facing his whole life. We have time. We'll figure something out and will go back in there and get him. But we can't help him until we get this together. Do you understand me?"

Throughout Dean's speech I've been running things through my head, only half listening to him. Suddenly, as he finishes speaking, something snaps into place. Instantly, I calm down. So, instead of answering him I say, "Dean, that thing knew who you were."

Dean's hands drop from my arm and he takes a step back, shrugging, "Demons get in your head."

"But not in mine." I say, speaking increasingly faster as I continue to put this together, "Dean, it completely ignored me to go after you. It said that I wasn't a part of it. It was planning for you and Sam, but not me."

Dean shakes his head, not seeing what I think I'm seeing, "So, it set us up and didn't plan on us bringing you along. So what?"

"So Sam was right. Someone does need to distract this thing so that someone else can kill it."

Dean's eyes widen with realization and he immediately begins shaking his head quickly, "Oh, no. I am not sending you in after it. You have no idea what you're doing."

I wince at the statement. I know something of what I'm doing. Sure I've never actually killed or exorcised or slain anything like this, but in theory I know how it's done. So I clench my hands and glare at Dean. My plan beats the hell out of sitting on our hands and waiting for Daddy to call, anyway.

"Just tell me how to kill it, Dean." I say in my best no-nonsense voice.

"Sam's right. You are crazy." Dean grumbles, avoiding answering me.

"Come on, Dean. You're wasting time." I snap at him.

Dean stops and looks at me again. It's that weird measuring look again, like he's adding up everything he knows about me and weighing it against the danger. It's obvious he feels the scales are tipped against me and he shakes his head as if he shouldn't even be considering this, but I can see that he is which gives me an edge. I leap forward, determined to talk Dean into this before he can convince himself otherwise.

"Dean, you may not trust me and that's fine, but I'm just as stubborn as either of you, I can tell you that now. And even though I've just met you guys…well, I like you two and I'm not about to let Sam get scared to death or whatever. So, either help me or think of better plan right now because I can't just stand around and wait while Sam's in there. I just can't." I insist, trying to make him understand that what I lack in experience I make up for in foolhardy stubbornness.

Dean absorbs what I say before he slowly responds, "Look, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but…well, you're just a reporter. You're not a hunter. You don't know what you're doing. If I sent you in there to do my job, it would be a kamikaze mission. Sam would kill me if something were to happen to you on his rescue mission. He's old-fashioned like that."

He's trying to pin the sentimentality on Sam, but I have a hunch that it's really his own principles that are keeping him from sending in a rookie in his place. I sigh in frustration, looking down at my hands and cursing their lack of skill with the tools of this trade. I just hadn't thought when I signed up for supernatural journalism that I'd need to fight the supernatural, too. Still… I feel like it's my responsibility now since I'm the one who has the opportunity to save Sam. I can't just ignore that. I glance down at my watch and hit the button to light up the face so I can read the time. This whole fiasco has only taken up about an hour even though it's felt like five times that long. We still have plenty of night left. Time enough for an impromptu lesson in demon-slaying.

"Alright, compromise. We have about eight hours of night left. We spend the next hour looking for anything that might give us an idea of how to take this thing down. Then, if we haven't thought of anything else, you teach me everything you can in five hours. If your Dad still hasn't called by then, we go back and get Sam my way. That's six hours for your Dad to check his messages and you to think of something. 'Cause I know you're brother's tough and all, but I don't think we can leave him until tomorrow night. What do you say? Deal?" I hold my hand out for Dean to shake on it.

Dean hesitates, looking off to the sides as if looking for another answer to present itself. When none does, he sighs and shakes my hand, "Deal."


	17. Chapter 17

One of these days I'm going to learn never to let chicks talk me into things that my gut tells me are a bad idea. But, apparently, today's not that day 'cause here I am going over Dad's journal looking for anything remotely applicable to our situation, my cell phone on the seat next to me. Neither Lindy nor I could bring ourselves to drive off and leave Sammy here, so we're sitting in the Impala with the car idling. By some miracle of technology, Lindy has picked up the faint traces of a wireless signal (why the hell is there wireless Internet in a ghost town?) and is able to get Internet on her laptop as long as she doesn't try to move at all. This is how I know my life has gone to hell: even demons can get access to AOL.

Come on, Dad. I know there's got to be something in here that'll free Sam without forcing me to send in a girl to kill this thing while I stand around distracting it. You know, this is really not how this is supposed to work. Sam and I are the ones who are supposed to come to the rescue. I wouldn't mind being the bait and letting Sam finish the job. Sam's been taught since he was old enough to hold a gun how to face evil. He wasn't just clued in and suddenly caught the hero bug despite a lack of training. I mean, Jesus, has she watched too many reruns of Buffy or something? You can't just pick up a stake and hope for the best.

I've been through Dad's journal twice now and the best I can come up with is still the same exorcism ritual Sam and I used on the plane. I glance at my watch and inwardly groan when I realize that my hour of research time is almost up.

"Find anything?" I ask the suicidal amateur demon-hunting reporter in the back seat. Seriously, what the hell? First, this girl can't even want to talk to me, then I have to spend all afternoon convincing her that the evil stuff really exists and that I'm not just trying to scare her, and now I have to spend all night convincing her not to go throwing herself into harm's way squaring off with one of said evil things. Why do I always attract the crazy ones? And why are they never Angelina Jolie?

"It may all be bogus, but there's some stuff on here about focusing on one fear, getting the demon to materialize in that fear. Then, you can beat the fear and beat it. Seems a little Disney fairytale-ish to me." Lindy shrugs.

I have to agree with her, but I notice that whatever she's reading is basically outlining the same plan that the exorcism I'm looking at details: force the demon to materialize in order to kill it. That would be all fine and dandy, too, if it wasn't for the fact that making the demon material makes it twice as powerful. I wonder if Lindy knows that.

"How about you?" she asks.

I frown at Dad's journal and then at my phone feeling like maybe, just maybe, Dad's sort of letting me down on this one, "Sort of."

Lindy scoots forward and looks over the seat at the journal, looking almost excited. That really worries me, but I don't know what to say so I push the worry to the back of my mind and try to forget it. I tilt the journal so that she can read it in the light of flashlights plus car lights.

"Uh, Dean? My Latin's a little rusty." she says after a few seconds of squinting at the page.

"It's an exorcism ritual. Sam and I have used it before. Forces the demon to manifest so you can kill it with the rest of the ritual." I explain.

Lindy nods as if that makes perfect sense or something. Then, she frowns as if something's troubling her. Her gaze leaves the journal and travels up to my face, "You know Latin?"

I'm a little offended by the surprise in her voice, but I shrug it off, "Just the important stuff."

I can't just sit here and small talk. Sam's in there going through hell right now. I suddenly can't even sit still, so I throw the door open and jump out. I can't believe Dad hasn't called me back yet. Of course, he never called when Sam told him I was dying in the hospital. But he must have had a good reason. He must have been in the middle of something that wouldn't let him take a time out to call his boys. There has to be some all-important reason why he's not calling me now, too.

I pace back in forth next to the Impala, my eyes glued to the building down the street. I want to walk back there, march right through the front door and just tell that damn demon to bring it. Anything but sit here while Sam's stuck in there with it. I mean, I know Sam is strong enough to fight his fears, but I've spent my whole life protecting him, trying to shield him from those same fears. I can't just stop now. He's my kid brother for Christ's sake.

I hear a car door closing quietly behind me and feel Lindy approaching cautiously. She doesn't say anything or touch me, but I feel her standing close, watching me pace.

"This is stupid. Let's just go back in there, I'll say the damn exorcism, and we'll get Sam out." I snap, although I know as soon as I say it that what I'm proposing isn't really something that will actually work. I felt that demon start to work it's mojo on me or whatever. I could feel nightmare images pushed to the back of my brain being dredged up and pulled before my eyes. It was almost as if I could feel it sorting through the things that I have forced myself not to think about, looking for the worst possible scenario. Makes my skin crawl to remember that sensation.

"I don't think that'll work, Dean." Lindy points out what I already know, "If I thought it would, I wouldn't argue with you. Honestly, I wouldn't. But I saw that thing starting to do whatever to you. I'm sure that if you go back in there, the same thing will happen. In fact, that's what I'm counting on for my idea to work."

What she's saying has a ring of truth to it, much as I hate to admit it. In fact, it's making me really pissed off that I, Dean Winchester, the experienced hunter of all things supernaturally nasty, can't think of something better. I take my anger out on an offending and conveniently nearby tree, punching the trunk and feeling with satisfaction the bark scrap the skin off my knuckles. I'm not sure who I wish I was punching: the demon, certainly, but maybe also Dad for not being here when I really need him, or maybe even Sammy for being such a stubborn shit and not listening to me. I'm even kind of pissed off at Lindy for continuing to point out my failure here, even though I know that's not what she means to do, but I'd never hit a girl. Well, not a human girl, at least.

"Alright." I finally growl, still facing the tree, staring down at my bloody fist, "We stick with your plan, but we're not going to spend all night out here playing teach the reporter to kick ass. I'm not leaving Sam in there any longer than we have to. One hour. I'll teach you everything I can in one hour, and then we go get Sam."

"Okay." Lindy agrees, but her voice sounds a little shaky. Can't blame her, really. I might be a little shaky too if someone just told me that I was getting sent in to kill a demon in one hour with only the skills I can learn in that time. Dad would never do anything this crazy. He'd kill me if he knew what I was doing.

But Dad's not here, I remind myself. He won't even call. So, crazy's all we've got. I turn around and face Lindy, dropping my hand to my side so she won't notice the self-inflicted damage, "Why don't we see how much of that throwing daggers stuff you remember?"

She nods, her face all seriousness, but with worry still clear to me in her eyes. I move back over to the car, turning it off and grabbing my phone before returning to her side. I stuff my keys and phone into my pocket and gesture behind me at the trees, "Pick a target."

She draws one of the daggers I gave her, holding it loosely in her right hand, testing the weight. They weren't designed specifically for throwing, but I know from experience that they can do the job. She switches the position of her hand on the dagger, holding it by the end of the blade. I watch carefully as she holds it up, her eyes focused on a nearby tree, maybe ten feet away. I can tell by the way she's holding the dagger that she wasn't lying about doing this before. She knows the technique, but even before she releases the dagger it's obvious that she's rusty. After a few preparatory motions, she throws. The dagger flies end over end towards the tree, but dips before it hits, barely sticking at all. She looks at me, her face the picture of embarrassment, disappointment, and anxiety. I try not to let my own anxieties about sending her in to fight a demon rear their ugly heads, instead remaining as emotionless as possible.

"Don't just stand there. Try again." I tell her, reminding myself of Dad.

I remember him saying almost that same thing to me when he gave me those and made me do this. The weight of the daggers isn't designed for throwing and I'd made almost the same mistake as Lindy, not compensating. Then, I'd spent the next ten minutes overcompensating. Dad never gave me any clue of what he felt about my screw-ups. He just kept telling me to try again. But every time I missed a target or the blade didn't stick, I felt like I was letting him down. And the more I felt like that, the more upset I got, and the more upset I got the worse I was throwing. Until Dad finally put his hand on my shoulder and said, 'Son, you're not thinking about throwing those daggers. You need to keep your mind on what you're doing and stop thinking about everything else.' I knew he was right. Dad's always right. So, I stopped thinking about everything but the dagger and the target. When I stuck the blade dead center, I looked at Dad. I'll never forget that kind of smile he gave me. Kind of a small smile that said, 'Don't let it go to your head, but I'm proud of you, son.' Out loud, all he told me was to do that again. That had been a good birthday.

Lindy retrieves the dagger and tries again. She's concentrating awfully hard and if the situation wasn't what it is, I might have laughed at the expression on her face. As it is, I focus on how she's releasing the dagger. As soon as it leaves her hand on the second throw, I see the problem. She's not compensating for the weight like she should be. Instead of expecting a downward arc and releasing at a higher angle, she's throwing straight, but with more force. Her blade sticks, but it's not where it should be. I could tell her what to do, but I'm curious if she'll figure it out on her own. That's how Dad taught us, anyway. So, I don't say anything, just gesture for her to do it again. She quickly picks her blade back up and repeats the process. Watching her silently, I find that she kind of reminds me of myself. That memory of me and Dad those years ago won't leave my head. She's even starting to do the same things that I had done, overcompensating and getting increasingly frustrated. So, in the interest of teaching, I decide to sort of channel Dad.

"Stop thinking about me and Sam and everything else." I tell her before she can throw again, "I can tell you know this. You're just over-thinking it."

She cocks her head to one side as she listens to me as if she's weighing my words. Finally, she nods to herself as if she's decided something before taking a deep breath and trying again. She waits before she releases, testing the dagger's weight again. When she finally does let it fly towards the tree, it hits at just about six feet up the trunk, right in the middle. Just about the height of someone's forehead. She stares for a moment at the knife sticking out of the tree, before turning towards me. A huge, somewhat feral grin appears on her face.

"Wait here." I tell her, going to get the dagger myself.

I wonder again why I've ended up with this girl whose five shades of fruitcake. In the words of Queen, she's 'stone cold crazy.' Normal girls don't decide to hook up with ghost hunters. Normal girls certainly don't stick around when those ghost hunters take her to a place like this where a demon's holed up. And normal girls sure as hell don't practice throwing daggers on the edge of a ghost town in preparation for what could very well be a suicide mission to rescue one of those ghost hunters from the clutches of that demon. Then again, a normal girl would be hysterical right now and that's the last thing I need. And when has my life ever been normal anyway? I'm not Sam. I don't play make-believe at college with my cookie-cutter girlfriend (no offense, Jess, don't haunt me). I grab the end of my dagger and pull it free from the tree trunk, grudgingly admitting that maybe what Sam had wasn't so bad. Still, that's not me. That's not the life Dad raised me for.

"If you can do that three more times, we can move on to something else." I tell Lindy as I walk back over and hand her the knife.

I'd like to make her practice more, but time is pressing. Sam's life and probably his sanity are ticking away the longer we do this, so a couple bulls-eyes is the most I can ask. Then, I've got to make sure she can fire a gun, say the exorcism properly, and get her in the right mental state to do all these things in the face of whatever this demon wants to throw at us. Jesus, after tonight I could open up Dean Winchester's School for Demon Slayers.

Hang on, Sammy. I'm doing the best I can.


	18. Chapter 18

I feel like a ton of bricks has been dumped on me. I groan and slowly open my eyes. Looking around me, everything is dark. I can barely make out anything except the vague outlines of shapes. I try to push myself over, to sit up. It's harder than I'd thought it would be, but not impossible. My muscles are all sore like I've been running for hours or something, but all I can remember is entering the general store and getting separated from Dean and Lindy. And wasn't there a voice?

"Dean?" I call out cautiously, slowly climbing to my feet.

No reply. I look around the floor nearby and search my pockets, and although everything I brought with me seems undisturbed, my flashlight is gone. I vaguely remember dropping it. Still, despite the fact that I hurt all over and don't know where I am, nobody seems to be here. So, I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, until I can make out some of the shapes close by. When nothing continues to happen, I carefully move forward, exploring this dark room. There are shelves along the walls with old, dusty objects on them. The floor seems to be dirt. I keep one hand on the wall and move along the perimeter of the room until I reach the spot from which I started. I take stock of what I know and begin to suspect that I may be in the cellar of the store, the one with human fingernail scratches along the underside of the door. But where's the demon and where are the people?

"_Sam…_" a voice whispers in my ear. I spin around, but no one's there, "_Sam…_"

I can't help, but demand, "What? What do you want?"

The voice seems to chuckle, then takes on a different quality. Now the voice that whispers in my ear is hauntingly familiar, "_Sammy…_"

I freeze when I hear that voice. I don't want to turn around. I'm afraid that this time there will be someone standing behind me and that I know who it'll be. But I can't seem to stop myself. It feels like a dream as I slowly turn around, one of the millions of dreams I've had since I was a baby, for as long as I can remember. I turn around and standing behind me is my mom.

"Mom?" I ask, afraid to move lest I cause her to disappear.

She looks beautiful. Just like she looked in the photos of her that Dean used to show me when Dad wasn't home. She's really pale, though. Like she hasn't seen any sun in a long time. Like she's sick or something.

"Hello, Sammy." she says and her voice sounds far away, like a whisper.

I feel like I can't move and like I may explode at the same time. Part of me wants to run over to her and hug her and part of me wants to keep my distance, knowing this must be a trick. My mom is dead. A demon took her and she's not coming back.

"Nothing to say to me, Sammy?" she asks, the corner of her mouth twisting up in an amused smile that reminds me of Dean.

I shake my head, not because I don't have anything to say to her. God, I have so much to say to her! I never even got to know her. But, I'm speechless and my emotions are threatening to overwhelm me.

"That's okay, Sammy. I have something to say to you." she says and suddenly the smile on her face disappears. She suddenly looks furious, "How could you?"

"What?" I ask, surprised. What is she talking about? Almost without knowing it, I take a step back from her in her anger.

"How could you kill your own mother?" she demands, her voice suddenly surrounding me like a scream coming from everywhere at once. I resist the urge to clamp my hands over my ears.

I'd been expecting something like this from the demon, but to actually hear her say it is too much. I shake my head vehemently, but tears are already leaking from my eyes. She couldn't possibly think I would do that on purpose, could she? I start to deny it, but her eyes burn at me, stealing the words from my mouth. She's more than a head shorter than me, but I feel like somehow she's towering over me. I feel like I'm only a kid again.

"I almost died to bring you into this world, Sam, and this is how you repay me! I will burn forever because of you!" she screams at me.

"Mom, I didn't mean…" I start to say, trying to make her understand, but she cuts me off and really I'm not sure if I believe the excuse myself anyway.

"You were a curse from the beginning, Sam." she growls, glowering at me, "A curse on me, my family, and everyone else you touch. Don't think I don't know about Jessica."

"Jessica…" I can hardly say her name, it hurts too much.

"How could you, Sam?" she repeats the accusation, "After you knew what happened to me, how could you let her get close to you? You let an innocent girl burn forever just because you were lonely. You knew, and you let it happen anyway."

I keep shaking my head, but her words sting like a whip and bring more tears to my eyes, making her image blur before me. What she's saying isn't true, it can't be. I would never let anything bad happen to Jessica if I could have stopped it. I didn't know. I didn't know it would happen again.

But no matter what I tell myself, the doubt is there. It's always been there. I'd had nightmares about what happened to Mom right before the demon took Jess. Why didn't I think to go to her, protect her?

"You're a curse, Sam. You've never been anything but a curse. All you've ever done is bring pain to me and my family." Mom yells and she's crying, too.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to." I tell her, unable to deny what she's saying, but wishing against all hope for her forgiveness anyway.

I reach out to her, but she backs away, hissing "Don't touch me. You're not my son."

She keeps backing away and as she does so, she's fading away. I cry out to her to stop, afraid that she'll disappear and I'll never get another chance to beg her forgiveness, but she won't stop. She keeps backing away until she's gone.

I can barely keep standing, I have to put a hand out against the wall to support myself. I've always been afraid that what Mom said is true, but I haven't let myself think about it. What if I am a curse? What if I keep causing the people I care about pain and suffering and death? What if Dad dies in his quest for vengeance with this demon that killed Mom? That would be my fault, too, since it's my fault that the demon came after Mom. And Dean, Dean would never let Dad go after it alone. He'd get caught in that fight, too. I'll be the cause of death for my whole family. They would have been better off if I was never born. Mom would still be alive and they'd all be safe. The demon never would have targeted the Winchesters if I hadn't been born. There's something wrong with me.

"_Sam?_" a new voice quavers.

I shake my head again, not able to bear facing her, too. Not Jessica, not now.

"Sam, why won't you help me?" she asks, and she's suddenly in the room with me.

She's lying on the floor, engulfed in flames. But the flames don't seem to be touching her skin. She looks perfect except for the fact that she's on the floor and she's crying in pain despite the fact that she's doesn't look to physically being burned. She has one hand stretched out towards me. Immediately, I reach out my own hand to her, but the fire sears my flesh. I can't stand it and have to pull my hand back.

"Sam," Jessica cries, disappointment clear on her face, "I needed you and you weren't there. You left me."

"Jess, I'm sorry. Dean needed me to find Dad." I tell her, dropping to my knees as close to her as I can stand.

"I needed you, too, Sam. Was I less important? Didn't you care about what would happen to me?" her voice holds real desperation and confusion. I don't know how to comfort her, to make her understand.

"I didn't know, Jess. I thought you were safe."

"Don't lie to me, Sam." she snaps, suddenly turning angry despite her tears. The fires burn hotter, leaping higher. I back hastily away from the growing flames, "You knew about the demon. You knew I was in danger being with you. But you never told me!"

I don't know what to tell her. I didn't think I could tell her the truth. I should have told her. All I can do is keep shaking my head and wish with all my heart that I could take her place.

I feel like my heart is shattering inside my chest. It's hard to breath.

"_Sam! Sammy!_"

"Dean?" I ask, feeling my hopes rise a little at the possibility of my brother finding me.

Dean appears out of the darkness, standing right where I had seen Jessica burning. I wonder if I've been hallucinating.

"Sam, get up! What the hell are you doing?" Dean snaps, grabbing my arm and hauling me to my feet, "I need you. Where have you been?"

"Dean, I saw…" I start to tell him what happened.

"No time." Dean interrupts, "I think I found the thing that killed Mom."

I let Dean pull me after him, noticing as we run through the gloom that I'm not actually in a cellar, I'm in a house somewhere. Dean is leading me upstairs. He lets go of my arm to draw a gun and I follow suit. I still feel like I've been hit by a truck or something, but I somehow have the strength to do anything Dean asks of me. We reach the second floor and Dean leads me into a nursery. And there it is, the dark figure I see standing over me in my nightmares. Its eyes glow with an unnatural light and it smiles when it sees us. Dean shoots at it, but it dematerializes into a dark mist before forming again after the bullet has passed through. It raises an arm and Dean goes flying into a wall. His gun drops to the floor as his arms are pinned down against the walls. I move to help him when the demon raises its other arm and I find myself flying back to hit the other wall. I can't move any of my limbs and my feet aren't even touching the floor. The demon is still smiling as it walks over to me.

"Ah, Sam. I've been looking for you." it tells me, "And now I think you're starting to realize what I've been meaning to tell you: you're _my_ boy, Sam."

I try to yell at it that it's full of shit. I try to deny it, but I can't even shake my head.

The demon grins even wider as if it's sensing my denial and finds it amusing, "You're evil, Sam. That's why you killed your mother and your girlfriend. That's why you've brought all this pain to your own 'family.' And that's why you belong with me."

I catch a glimpse of Dean over the demon's shoulder. He's looking at me like he's never seen me before. I want to yell at him for looking at me like that. But I can't, the force pressing me against the wall is too heavy on my lungs for me to speak. All I can do is look at Dean looking at me like I'm a monster. It's the same look I saw on Mom's face when she said I wasn't her son and on Jess's face when she screamed at me for not telling her the truth. And as bad as it hurt to see Mom and Jess look at me like that, it hurts worse coming from Dean, the brother that practically raised me, the one person who knows me better than anyone in the world.

I try desperately to scream, at Dean, at the demon, at anyone. I can't accept what they're telling me. It can't be true, yet I'm finding it harder and harder to deny. If Dean could believe that about me…

I can't fight the panic that is swiftly rising in me, making me gasp at what little air I can get and causing me to feel dangerously close to passing out. I squirm in the demon's supernatural grip until darkness obscures my vision.

I open my eyes and find myself still seeing darkness. But it's different this time, different and familiar. It doesn't take me long to recognize the cellar. I can also tell almost instantly that I'm not alone. I can feel the presence of other things down here. I can hear breathing, crying, and, suddenly, screaming. I quickly get to my feet although I feel exhausted and follow the screaming to its source. I locate a huddled mass of a person on the other side of the room. I can still hardly see, but when I kneel down next to this person and put my hand on their arm, they look up at me and I recognize one of the girls from the newspaper articles on the disappearances. I assume immediately that the other people I'm hearing must be the rest of the missing people.

"Hey, it's okay." I tell the girl, trying to comfort her.

But she's looking at me like I'm a monster, too. She starts screaming again and trying desperately to get away from me. I let her go, feeling kind of stunned.

"_You can't help them, Sam. They know you're just as bad as I am…_" that insidious voice from before seeps into my ears, chuckling like it did before my mom appeared.

"That's not true!" I snap because if I know anything, I know that demons lie, "That wasn't my Mom or Jess or Dean!"

"_Still not convinced? Let's go through this again, shall we?_" the demon says and I feel like something is pulling on parts of my brain, taking from it, "_How many times must we do this, Sam?_"

I wonder in a fleeting moment before the scenery changes and I'm plunged into a new scenario how long I've been down here with this thing doing this. I've lost all sense of time. All I know with any certainty is that I can't go on like this forever. I feel like something inside of me is breaking and when it finally snaps, something horrible will be released. And truthfully, I'm terrified of what that might be.


	19. Chapter 19

I quietly mouth the words to the exorcism over again. I want to make sure I've got the pronunciation right. Luckily, the entirety of the ceremony is not too long, only about a page. Still, with next to know experience with this, I'm pretty nervous. Plus, unlike Dean and Sam, I was never ordained, not even online, so I'm not too convinced this will work. Still, it's the best we can do. And Dean's already blessed me, so hopefully that will help. Funny, I've never been blessed before. Hope God won't hold my lack of devotion against me here.

"Here." Dean says, coming over to where I'm standing near the passenger door of the Impala, handing me a box of salt he's retrieved from the trunk.

I take the salt, but between the journal, the salt, and the flashlight I'm using to read, I'm running out of hands. I could load this stuff in my backpack, but I'd feel more comfortable if I kept them nearer at hand and someplace easier to get to. I wish I'd thought to bring my army jacket with its big pockets, but it's packed in my trunk. I look to Dean for help since he's the one who's done this who knows how many times before.

"Dean, got any idea how I can carry all this stuff?"

Dean looks at me balancing stuff between my hands and ducks into the backseat of the car. He digs around for a minute before he emerges with a jacket. It's a dusty green jacket with a strange dark stain on one sleeve that makes me raise an eyebrow, but I don't say anything. It's got pockets, so I can't complain. I set the stuff in my hands on the roof of the Impala so that I can take the jacket and slip it on. I unbutton the pockets on both sides and slide the journal in one and the salt in the other. I feel strangely like I'm suiting up for battle. I look to Dean for guidance, not sure what to do now, and find him looking at me strangely.

"What?" I ask, shifting uncomfortably.

"Nothing," Dean says, shaking his head, but still looking at me the same way, "it's just…I spent forty bucks on that jacket and it looks better on you."

"Uh…sorry…or thanks, maybe?" I reply, not sure how to take that.

A weak laugh escapes Dean's lips and he kind of smiles. Somehow, the smile on his face eases the tension I can feel building inside me. I silently thank him for that before my eyes are drawn past him to the main street and the store where Sam is being held prisoner. I feel the tension return full force, but I don't try to fight it. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

Dean turns to face the street as well. I step up to join him and notice that all traces of humor have drained from his face.

"Don't worry, Dean. We'll get him back." I tell him, feigning a confidence that I don't really feel.

Dean sends me an appreciative glance before nodding, "Damn straight. Let's go get him."

We both start for the store, walking side by side with a determination and a sense of purpose I've never felt before. As crazy as all this is, I actually feel like I'm doing something right for a change. I feel somehow like I was meant to face this thing, help these people. I don't dare voice this opinion, but feeling this way gives me a kind of strength that I'm grateful for.

Our destination looms closer, a dim outline against the moonlight, all shadows. The front door is swinging loosely on its hinges in the slight breeze, making a creaking sound. Everything inside is pitch black. I shine my flashlight in the entrance, searching for any trace of that dark cloud that seeped under the door to claim Dean along with his brother. There's no trace of it. I hesitate to enter anyway so Dean takes the lead. My right hand slides down to wear Dean's dagger is hanging against my hip and for a change, the cold metal of Dean's gun against my back is reassuring instead of odd. I force myself to breathe before I follow Dean inside.

The door doesn't slam behind us. I'm watching it out of the corner of my eye. It doesn't slam, but it does stop in mid-swing, freezing as if someone's caught it and is holding it. I try not to let that bother me and turn my full attention towards the back door. It, too, is hanging open as if it was never shut so tightly that Dean couldn't even make it budge. As we get closer, both Dean and I shine our lights inside that door and I hope irrationally to see Sam. However, a quick sweep of the room with the light reveals that Sam is not there. Dean's flashlight has stopped to focus on the trapdoor and I feel myself balk at the idea of going down there.

Neither of us has crossed the threshold into the room yet. Dean looks over at me and his eyes force me to get a hold of myself, "I'm going to open the door to the cellar. You stand back in the corner. Hopefully it won't notice you."

I nod, wondering for a moment why I ever thought this would work. Because it has to, I remind myself. Dean steps into the backroom first and, after forcing down a growing lump in my throat, I follow yet again. I stay close to the wall, easing back into the corner as Dean cautiously approaches the metal ring to pull open the cellar door. He glances back at me before slowly setting down his flashlight and slipping his gun back into his jeans so that he can pull open the door with both hands. I quickly remind myself of what I'm supposed to do and pull the box of salt out of my pocket with shaky hands. I quickly pour the salt around me in a small half-circle, pinning myself back in the corner and hopefully shielding myself from the demon, as well. I put the salt back in my pocket and take out the journal, opening it to the marked page just as Dean pulls the door open.

Something darker than the gloom we're standing in rushes up from the cellar, filling the air before Dean. Dean gives a wordless shout as he quickly steps back. I find myself staring at the dark cloud, frozen where I'm standing. My fear of shadows is personified in this thing and in this enclosed space with it, I feel petrified.

"_I knew you'd be back…_"

It may be my imagination, but I feel like the dark fog of a demon is smirking maliciously at me.

"Let Sam go!" Dean demands.

"_Why don't you come join him?_" the demon taunts, the cloud before Dean coalescing into something like a storm cloud, threatening to consume him.

"Damn it, Lindy! Why am I not hearing Latin?" Dean snaps, whipping his head around to glare at me before returning his attention to the demon.

That snaps me out of it and I remember my job here. I tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me and force them to concentrate instead on the book in my hands. For a moment I forget how to read the Latin, but then I think about how much is riding on me and it comes back to me. I utter the first few words before I'm interrupted by dark laughter.

"_An exorcism? Are you serious?_" the demon's voice penetrates my concentration.

"Lindy, damn it, if you don't keep reading…" Dean threatens and I see that he's waist high in the dark cloud now.

I resist the urge to run over and try to pull him free, instead continuing to read. I hope the demon's bluffing, that really it knows that we're on to something with this and is just trying to throw me off.

"_I expected more from you, Dean. So did your brother…_"

"You son of a bitch." Dean growls, but he doesn't move. Maybe he can't. And the darkness is rising even higher around him. It's up to his chest now and thickening around his lower extremities so that I can't even see his legs anymore. His eyes are also starting to lose focus. They look glazed over or like maybe he's seeing something beyond what I can see. And now his mouth is moving, but no words are coming out, like he's responding to something I can't hear. I try to stop stealing glances over the journal at him and keep my eyes glued to the page. I've almost finished the part that makes the demon material. I rush through the last words of that section before pausing to look up to see if they've had any effect.

The cloud slowly enveloping Dean retreats suddenly, sucking back into itself until it is one dark mass in the vague shape of a person. The vague shape slowly sharpens until standing before me and right next to Dean is some strange mixture of shadow and human. The demon is basically a woman, but there's a shadow clinging to her outline, blurring her edges, and her eyes are completely black, voids where pupils should be. Maybe it's because eyes are the window to the soil and it has none. Either way, it's distinctly clear that the demon is looking right at me with those non-eyes.

"_Thank you, little girl…_" it says, and its voice still feels like a whisper that is seeping up from the floor all around me, even though I can see the demon's mouth moving and the voice should logically be coming from that mouth.

It bothers me that it's thanking me. Why is it thanking me? I frown before I remember that materializing the demon makes it stronger. I inhale to say something, do something, when the demon is suddenly not across the room from me, but right in my face, smiling a sick, twisted smile at me. Its hand snaps out, clamping down around my throat. The journal falls from my hands as it lifts me from the floor and my hands impulsively fly to the unnatural grip on my throat, trying to pry icy fingers loose.

"_Did you really think that salt would protect you from me?_" she/it asks, as if it's genuinely curious.

The edge of my vision is starting to blur as I kick furiously. But nothing makes her grip loosen in the slightest. She doesn't even seem to notice my struggling. And, to my horror, the shadow around her form is gathering around her arm and slinking down her arm towards my face.

"Mom?"

Dean's voice draws my attention for a second, distracting me from the panic that is overwhelming my senses. I can't see him, I can't tear my eyes from the shadow approaching me, but I'm listening to him.

"Mom, what are you doing?" Dean demands, and suddenly he's in my field of vision, grabbing the rock solid arm that has me suspended in the air.

The iron fist at my neck lets go and I fall abruptly to the ground. I gasp, but I can't seem to get enough air and my throat hurts so much. I cough, trying to clear an airway, but my mind is still desperately trying to keep track of the shadow that seemed bent on doing something terrible to me. I look up and see the demon turning to face Dean.

Dean immediately let's go of its arm, hastily backing away, "You're not my mom."

"_What makes you say that?_" the demon asks, smiling in that sickening way again.

Dean keeps backing away until he runs out of room and hits the wall, "You're not my mom!"

The demon calmly walks over to him, still smiling, "_Of course I am. Who else could I be?_"

"Damn it! You're an evil bitch monster of doom! You're not my mom!" Dean yells, drawing the gun at his back and aiming it at the demon's chest, "Stay away from me."

But he doesn't pull the trigger. I wonder if he can actually shoot this thing. Even if it isn't his mom, it must look just like her. I can even see a resemblance in her face.

"_You wouldn't kill your mother, would you, Dean?_" the demon asks, frowning, "_Only Sam would do something like that._"

"Shut up." Dean snaps.

"_No, what you do Dean is let things kill your family for you. You let a demon take me and now you're brother, too. Your Dad could be long dead by now, too, for all you know. He couldn't possibly last long trying to kill that thing by himself. And yet, here you are, doing nothing about any of that._" the demon continues, almost spitting out the accusations.

I want to come to Dean's defense, to shout at it that none of that can possibly be true, but my voice won't work. When I try to talk, I just end up coughing some more.

"I said shut up." Dean says, but he sounds weaker and his gun is starting to waver.

"_Face it, Dean. You were never any help to any of us. We never needed you anyway. You're just excess baggage._"

Suddenly, the shadow outlining the demon slides off her to form another shape. That shape slowly materializes into another person, into Sam. He's curled up on the floor, moaning in pain. I try to get to my feet to go to him, but I can't seem to manage it. I settle for slowly crawling. But before I can get far, the demon morphs into a dark male figure with glowing eyes. It lifts an arm and Sam flies up and hits the ceiling. His form is stretched along the dark boards up there as if he's pinned and a slash appears across his stomach, blood darkening the front of his shirt.

"No!" Dean yells, firing at the demon repeatedly.

But the bullets don't seem to do anything. And the blood on Sam's shirt is growing by the second. Drops of blood fall from the ceiling, landing on Dean as he reaches up to his brother. Sam's eyes are wide with pain and fear, but he doesn't make a sound.

"Sam!" Dean cries, but before he can do anything, flames appear around Sam, swiftly engulfing his whole body.

Sam's mouth opens like he's screaming in agony, but no sound comes out. I look down and close my eyes because I can't bear to look anymore. All I can hear is Dean screaming and the demon laughing. This can't be happening.

Slowly, I force my eyes open again. Tears are streaming down my face and I can't even think about trying to stop them. I don't dare to look up. But right in front of me on the ground is the journal. I grab it and pull it to my chest. Without looking at anything but the words scrawled in masculine handwriting, I try to read the Latin that Dean hurriedly drilled into my head. At first, no sound escapes my raw throat, but after a few tries a dry, scratchy voice that could possibly be mine reaches my ears.

But I'm interrupted by Dean. He's choking on tears, "You son of a bitch. You god damned son of a bitch."

I look up to see him slowly climbing to his feet from his knees. He must have fallen to them at some point. He's got a crazed look on his face that really scares me. The demon doesn't look too impressed, though. It's smirking at Dean and before he can reach his feet, the demon puts out a hand and something invisible knocks Dean back to the floor.

"_You're not even worth my time._" the demon snarls. It pauses for a second, though, as if in thought before it continues, "_But, it may amuse me to play with you a little longer._"

To my utter horror, with that statement the demon turns its head to look at me. I clutch the journal so tightly my hands hurt, frozen where I'm sitting on the floor.

"Leave her alone, damn it!" Dean snaps, "Just finish me off and get it over with!"

The demon turns its attention back to Dean and I feel like, at least for the moment, I can breathe again. I feel extremely guilty about my self-centered relief to have its attention on someone else, but I can't help it.

"_You? I don't care about you, Dean. You're nothing without your family. You know that. Don't pretend you don't._"

With that, the demon turns its back on Dean and my momentary relief vanishes. I feel that unnatural strength lift me again, throwing me back against the wall. Despite the pain of impact, I somehow manage to keep my death grip on the journal. But, I'm too terrified to even think about it as I feel myself being pulled up along the wall, and then across the ceiling. The image of Sam burning fills my mind and even though my throat is a mass of pain, I scream. And when I look down at the demon smiling cruelly up at me, it isn't the demon that killed Sam that I see. It's that shadow. That shadow form that I saw as a child and that's haunted my dreams long after. I almost feel like shrinking back against the ceiling to get further away from it, but I can't control my own limbs.

"No!" Dean screams again, "Not again!"

"_Oh? And what will you do about it, Dean? Don't you realize that you're useless? You can't save her. You couldn't save your mother. You couldn't even save your brother. What makes you think you can do anything to stop me now?_" the demon demands, its deep pits of despair that serve for eyes leaving me for a second to glare at Dean.

Even though it's talking to Dean, the words ring through my head: you're useless. This is all my fault. This was my idea. How did I let this go so wrong? My mind races, self-accusations interspersed with flairs of panic. Then, I look down at Dean and catch his eyes. Everything stops and one single rational thought emerges from the chaos inside my head. I focus all the strength I can summon inside of me to move the muscles in my hand. And, strangely, the force holding me against the ceiling actually comes to my assistance as it keeps me from dropping the one thing that may still save me. Dean's eyes narrow as his attention is drawn by the movement of my hand. I pray for him to be able to read my thoughts, to know what to do.

I feel like the skies have opened up and angels are singing hallelujah when I hear Dean's deep voice muttering in Latin.

"_What do you think you're doing?_" the demon snaps, anger flaring in its eyes.

Dean ignores it and keeps reading. The force holding me against the ceiling is so strong I can hardly breathe and I feel myself blacking out again. Still, a sense of hope has sparked in me, making me hold on.

"_Do you really think that will stop me?_" the demon says, laughing.

But the laugh sounds forced to me. Or maybe that's just that pesky spark of hope talking.

"_Alright, Dean. If you really want me to kill you…_" the demon growls.

It raises its arms, but Dean's shouting the Latin at the top of his lungs now. I pray that he doesn't have much more to go. But then my hopes sink as I'm forced to watch him fly across the room to hit the wall again. I can't turn my head and I can't even seem to close my eyes. But apparently I can cry as I feel moisture welling up when I see slashes of red spring to life across Dean's chest. Yet, somehow, he's still shouting, still calling on God to smite this demon in a language I don't really understand. And to my eyes the demon is looking more and more furious.

"_Stop that!_" it growls at Dean, stalking closer to him.

Its hands whip out to grab Dean's throat and suddenly the shadow demon is gone and Dean's mother is back again. Dean somehow still manages to gasp out words past her suffocating hands. She disappears as suddenly as she has materialized and Sam takes her place. I gasp at the sight of him before I catch sight of his eyes which are just as black as the demon's or Dean's mother's. It's not Sam. It can't be Sam. And Dean's still reciting the exorcism even though his voice has become more and more strained.

"_You can't beat me, Dean!_" Sam growls in a demonic version of his voice.

My chest is starting to hurt from straining for a breath, but what worries me more is the grin that appears on Dean's face. What does that grin mean and why has he stopped the ritual?

"Watch me." he croaks, before he speaks a final stream of syllables.

Sam's hands loosen on Dean's neck and he takes a step backward from Dean as if in disbelief. Dean drops back to the floor, falling to his knees, one hand moving to his throat. The next thing I know, the ground is flying towards me.


	20. Chapter 20

It kind of bothers me to watch Sam burst into a cloud of black smoke that dissipates into nothingness, but I've got bigger problems at the moment. Besides, it doesn't matter because now I know that my brother's not dead.

Ignoring the sting of the slash marks across my chest which have absolutely ruined one of my favorite shirts and the soreness of my throat, I clamber back to my feet and cross the room to the pile of reporter on the floor. I kneel next to her and check for a pulse, which, to my relief, is steady and strong. I try to move her as gently as possible, turning her over onto her back. That was quite a fall after all. Evidenced by the fact that she's out cold. I frown at the idea of a head trauma, but decide that, at least for the moment, she'll be alright. Thank god the girl had the presence of mind to hold open the journal for me to see the rest of the exorcism. I kind of hate to admit it, but that demon really had me. I guess that means she saved my ass. Huh, never saw that one coming.

Anyway, I've got a brother to locate so I get back to my feet again, something that's getting harder and harder to do each time (God, I hurt), and move towards the open cellar door. I glance down into the darkness and decide to yell down and wait for a response before I exert the energy to climb down.

"Sammy?" I call.

"Dean, is that you?" a voice that's half groan calls back.

"Yeah, Sam, it's me. How you doing down there?" I ask, hoping that groan isn't one of pain, but being too cynical to believe that so settling for hoping that it's not severe pain.

"Dean, I thought I saw…" Sam begins and I'm afraid I know where he's headed with that so I cut him off.

"It's okay, Sam. It was the demon. Fear demon, remember?" I say, trying to seem more relaxed about the whole experience than I really feel. There's a long pause and I start to get a little worried, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You coming up?" I ask, feeling a little impatient with him. I mean, I thought I just saw him die, I'd kind of like to see him in front of me alive and okay.

"Yeah, I'm coming. Dean, there's a bunch of other people down here, too. Most of them seem to be kind of in shock."

"I'll bet." I mutter to myself, already thinking of the major headache that getting all these people out of here, keeping them from going hysterical, and satisfying the local authorities about all this is going to be. Maybe it would be best if we just got these folks situated and split before the cops actually arrived. Not that I really want to leave them out here, but the Impala really doesn't have the space and I don't feel like getting arrested again at the moment. No, I'm much more inclined to spend the night in my motel room than in the local jail.

At that moment, Sam emerges from the cellar. As much as I hate sappy chick-flick moments, I could almost hug him. Almost. As it is, I smile so wide my mouth hurts.

"Hey, I'm getting tired of saving your ass." I tell him to cover the entirely over-emotional reaction I feel at seeing him safe and sound.

Sam smiles this indulgent smile like he sees right through me or something. Then, he looks over my shoulder and sees Lindy and the smile disappears. I step back and give him a hand out of the cellar, following him to her side.

"She fell from the ceiling, but I think she'll be okay." I report to Sam as he kneels next to her just as I'd done only minutes earlier.

"The ceiling?" Sam asks, looking up at me over his shoulder.

I shake my head, "Don't ask."

"Dean, you're bleeding." Sam says almost accusingly, pointing at my shirt, "And what's wrong with your voice?"

"I'm fine." I shrug off his concern and decide to focus his attention on somebody else, "Look, if you're okay, can you start helping people out of the cellar while I get Lindy to the car?"

Sam nods, his face taking on a serious and professional look. But he still looks from me to Lindy and back again with concern. I bend down and slide my arms under the unconscious girl and pick her up, to prove to Sam that I'm okay. He seems to accept that because he turns and heads back for the cellar. I nod to myself, satisfied that Sam's stopped prying and turn for the door. As glad as I am to have Sam back, I'm even more glad this thing is over and I don't particularly want to relive any bit of it by relating what happened to him. It was bad enough the first time.

I pause for a moment before I reach the street to readjust Lindy in my arms. It's not that she's heavy or anything, it's just my muscles are a little angry about being thrown into walls more than once and all. The movement must have jostled her out of her sleep, though because her eyes flutter open a little and she groans.

"Hey, beautiful." I quip, smiling at her.

"Dean?" she asks, her voice just as rough as my own, reminding me that she got the crap strangled out of her, too. I hate demons that like to strangle.

"That's me." I assure her.

"What…?" she starts to ask, lifting a hand to her head.

"You kicked its ass, that's what." I interrupt, hoping she'll feel better with the knowledge that she's the reason we made it through this. She gives a weak smile, but she looks on the verge of passing out again. I figure I should probably try to keep her awake given the fact that she almost definitely has a concussion, "This'll be one hell of a story, right?"

"'Reporter manages not to get everyone killed by demon?'" she jokes.

"I was thinking more like 'Reporter and incredibly handsome ghost hunter save hunter's dumbass younger brother and assorted missing persons.'" I reply.

Lindy immediately stiffens in my arms and the movement is so sudden I'm almost afraid I'll drop her, "Oh my god, Sam."

"No, he's okay. That wasn't really Sam." I reassure her quickly before she can freak out, "Just the demon messing with me. He's helping the others out."

"Others?" Lindy asks, confused.

"All those missing people, remember?" I remind her.

"Oh." she says, quieting down. Then, she stirs again, "Dean?"

"What's up?" I ask, wishing that I'd parked a little closer.

"Does this mean I can drive your car?"

"The Impala?" I stop walking in surprise, looking down at her then up at my car again. My mind races for an appropriate answer when she starts laughing. I frown at her, wondering what exactly is so funny.

"Nevermind." she says, still smiling.

I wonder for a moment if she's making fun of me before I dismiss the thought and resume the trek to the car. I'm too exhausted to care too much at the moment, anyway. Thankfully, we reach the car then and I manage to get the back door open without dropping Lindy. I try to place her in the seat as carefully as I can, feeling the slashes on my chest pull at the awkward movement. I try not to let the pain show because I know she's watching me and she'll spill to Sam who will undoubtedly go all mother-ish on me. The last thing he needs to be doing after an experience like this is worry about me.

"So, will you make me a deal?" I ask her as soon as I've got her in.

"What?" she asks, eyes bright and interested, which I find very reassuring given that she just fell from some height and hit her head on the floor.

"If I turn on the car and give you some music to listen to, will you stay awake until Sam and I finish getting these people out?"

"I guess." she kind of shrugs.

"I'm serious. You've had a head injury. No sleeping." I lecture, reminding myself of Dad for the second time tonight.

"Yes, sir." she replies sarcastically. She must see some seriousness in my face or something, though, because she continues, "Okay, I promise I'll stay awake. Just make sure the music is good and loud."

I grin, "Is there any other kind?"

With that I find her some Judas Priest to listen to, turn the car on and pop it in the tape player. I wait until the music fills the air, double check that she's okay in the back seat. Then, I turn and reluctantly head back to the store. I'm relieved to see Sam out front, having people sit on the front porch. Sam's right, too, these people seem utterly shell-shocked. They hardly seem to know what's going on. I think about what the demon did, what it made me feel, and I can hardly blame them. Some of these people have been missing for over a week. I'm surprised there aren't casualties. But I shouldn't get over-excited just yet. I'll be damn surprised if some of these people don't end up in a loony bin or become recluses or something after this.

"How many more, Sam?" I ask, too tired to recall how many missing persons there were at the moment.

Sam looks up from the guy he's just seated and briefly reassured, "Two more."

"Got it." I nod, heading inside. As I pass him, I hand him my phone, "Here, call the cops for me, will you?"

Sam wordlessly takes the phone. When I'm safely past his prying eyes, I allow myself a moment of weakness and gingerly probe the bruises at my throat. I'm fairly sure my throat's going to be all black and blue for at least a week. Great. Not only is it hard to pass as an FBI agent when you look like you've had the crapped wrung out of you, but it's hard to pick up chicks looking like that, too. Plus, I've got these annoying scratches to take care of. I cautiously pull my shirt away from the wounds, wincing as the material pulls free of already drying blood.

I put those thoughts out of my mind, focusing once again on the still unfinished task before me. I don't relish the idea of climbing the ladder down into the cellar, but I can't bring myself to ask Sam to do it again either. Especially not after he was held prisoner down there. Nope, big brother Dean will finish this up.

But I have to say, I'm not all there anymore. In fact, I'm almost asleep on my feet already. The adrenaline from before has completely dissipated leaving just a bruised and scratched Dean behind. So, it almost surprises me when I realize that I'm back outside with the two remaining people. Even worse, I almost jump when Sam comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"We should probably go, Dean." he says.

Well, at least I won't have to argue with him about that. That's a relief.

"These people okay for now?" I ask him, trusting that he's taken care of that for me.

He nods, "They don't really know what happened, but they know that help is coming, they just have to stay put."

"Good. Let's get out of here."

Sam and I both head for the car, silent. I can tell from the way he's walking that Sam's dead tired, too. The Impala looks like heaven on wheels by the time we reach her again.

"Do you want me to…?" Sam starts to ask, getting all concerned again.

"Get your ass in shotgun." I say before he can even finish asking to drive.

Sam shrugs and complies. He must really be tired. He's usually much more stubborn. I decide not to question it and just get in behind the wheel. Lindy's made good on her promise and is still awake in the back seat. I notice that she brightens when she sees Sam.

"Sam!" she says, looking as relieved to see him as I felt.

He smiles at her, "Hey, Lindy. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think I'm fine. What about you? We thought…" she shakes her head and doesn't finish. I'm thankful because I don't want to have a discussion with Sam and I know that if she tells him that we thought he was dead, he won't let it go no matter how tired he is.

"I'm okay." he nods.

I, meanwhile, turn the car around and head back down the highway. We pass the cops on the way, three squad cars flying down the road with lights and sirens blazing. The three of us are quiet and I worry a little about Sam and Lindy. Lindy stays awake, but I worry about her head anyway. I really don't want to take her to a hospital, but I wonder if maybe I should. And I worry about Sam because he's got this introspective look on his face and I just know that he's thinking about whatever that demon did to him. Thankfully, the motel comes into sight before I can talk myself into saying something about that to him. I wonder fleetingly how fast I was driving, but the thoughts leaves my brain almost instantly. I don't really care.

I pull into the spot in front of our rooms and put the car in park. Rather than getting out, however, I turn in my seat to look at Lindy, "Well, should we get you into a hospital and get that concussion checked out?"

Lindy pushes herself up, her eyes wide, "Hell no! You have any idea how much trouble I'll be in if I end up hospitalized while working on a job? Besides, it's just a little bump on the head."

"You fell from the ceiling." I remind her.

"And you've got three slashes across your chest." she retorts stubbornly. She crosses her arms across her own chest, "I'm not going unless you go."

I sigh, which really hurts my throat. So, I curse under my breath. Sam raises an eyebrow at me and smirks because he and I both know that she got me with that one.

"Fine, but if you fall into a coma, not my fault." I snap a little more harshly than I mean.

"I promise I won't haunt you if I die." Lindy says, one hand on her heart and the other up in the air like she's taking an oath.

"That's not funny." I frown at her, getting out of the car and opening the back door to help her out.

"I thought it was kind of amusing." she replies, holding her hand out to me and letting me pull her to her feet.

She wobbles a little, but she stands on her own. I feel a little better about not rushing her to the ER. I guess I've taken some pretty bad hits to the head and been okay, after all. Maybe I'm overreacting. Oh, god. I'm acting like Sam!

I try not to trip and fall on my face when that thought hits me. Instead, I frown deeply at myself for thinking that and silently escort Lindy to her room. Sam follows closely and I notice, to my annoyance, a small amused smile on his face as he watches me. I glare at him and refrain from being too helpful with getting Lindy comfortable on her bed. My tired mind doesn't even leap to add innuendos to that, a clear indication that I need to sleep for nine or ten hours.

"We should at least keep this door open in case you need anything." Sam pipes up as he opens the adjoining door to our room.

"Whatever." Lindy says, sounding already half asleep.

I push past Sam into our room and stumble towards the bathroom. I close the door behind me before yanking my shirt off. Three long cuts run diagonally across my chest. I quickly clean them before opening the door and grabbing a clean shirt. I pull it on before Sam can see the wounds too clearly. Then, I let my jeans hit the floor, not caring that the door to Lindy's room is still open before climbing into bed in my T-shirt and boxers. I'm too tired to do anything else in the way of cleaning up tonight. Sam, on the other hand, grabs some clean things and heads for the shower.

"Night, Sam." I grunt, knowing that by the time he's done I'll already be out.

"Night, Dean." he replies.

"Goodnight, Sam! Goodnight, Dean!" Lindy calls suddenly from the other room.

I can't suppress a smile. I call back, "Night, Lindy!"

Sam echoes me before he closes himself in the bathroom. The sound of running water reaches me and I let it lull me to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

I wake up slightly panicked before I remember that I'm not in the basement of that place anymore. As tired as I was after that ordeal, I'd needed to shower last night to try and get the feel of that place off of my skin. Unfortunately, a simple shower can't erase the memories in my brain, the images imprinted behind my eyes of my mother, of Jessica. I'd thought I was ready to face my fear that I'm responsible for their deaths, but that fear apparently runs deeper than I'd been aware of. I try not to think about that, but still, it bothers me that this demon, and the one on the plane for that matter, seemed to know all about what happened to Mom and Jess. How could they both know that?

I push back the covers and sit up. Dean's still sleeping, snoring the way he does when he sleeps after being over-exhausted. I decide not to wake him despite the fact that I really want to talk to him about exactly what happened last night. Instead, I resolve myself to go check on Lindy and see if it's possibly easier to get the story out of her than my brother.

When I peek into her room, I find Lindy awake. She's sitting up on her bed and staring at nothing, still wearing the same clothes we put her into her bed in last night. I feel that maybe I should make my presence known so I gently clear my throat and step into clear view in the doorway.

"Oh, hi, Sam." she says in a deceptively casual way.

"Hey, Lindy." I reply, stepping further into the room, "I was wondering if I could talk to you about what happened last night. You know, after we were separated."

Lindy's eyes seem to lose some of the glaze on them and she meets my eyes directly. She's slow to respond, so I move over and have a seat on the foot of her bed. But judging from the look on her face, I feel fairly certain that she's going to tell me what happened.

"After you…" she trails off, coughing before she continues. I notice dark bruises peaking out from under her hair around her neck when she looks down, fixing her gaze on the sheets, "The demon almost got Dean, too. So, I distracted it and we ran out of there. We didn't want to leave you, but we didn't know what to do. The demon was ready for you guys, Sam. It knew your names and everything. I think it set you up. But the thing was, I don't think it planned for me so, like an idiot, I thought that I could save the day, you know?"

She pauses again and I smile at her encouragingly. The way she's looking at me, I think she's afraid that I'm mad at her. I try to communicate silently that I am anything but mad. In fact, it kind of sounds like she saved my life.

"Okay, so, I told Dean all that, but he didn't like it. He kept trying to think of something else. Called your dad for help, too…"

I have to interrupt her there, "He called Dad?"

She looks up at me, apparently not understanding what the big deal is, "Yeah, left a message. He didn't call back, though, so Dean agreed to my plan. We decided to use some exorcism ritual that Dean said you guys had used on an airplane demon before. He tried to prepare me to fight it, too, not that it did any good in the end. It was too strong."

She stops again, fidgeting with the blankets over her legs. I put a hand out to stop hers, seeking her eyes with mine, "It's okay, Lindy. Everything's okay."

She nods quickly, "Yeah, I guess. So, Dean and I went back in and the demon was waiting for us. But it didn't really pay much attention to me at first, just like I'd hoped. I guess that may be because it knew what I was doing and wanted me to finish that first part, the part that makes the demon material and extra-strong. And then, well, it became your mom, Sam. And she…strangled me. But Dean stopped her, distracted her. She said these terrible things."

"It wasn't her." I interject, more for my own sake than for her's. I don't even have to imagine what things the demon that looked like Mom said, I remember them.

"And then she became this demon thing and you appeared. At least, we thought it was you. And the demon put you on the ceiling and…god, Sam!" she breaks off, quickly looking away, but not before I see tears in her eyes.

"It wasn't me, either. It was a trick. I'm okay." I tell her, trying not to think about what she must have seen, what Dean must have seen.

She takes a few deep breaths and her voice is a little shaky, but she finishes telling me what happened, "So…uh…then you were gone and the demon was tormenting Dean. Then, it decided it was my turn, I guess, because I was trying to read the exorcism again. Something pushed me back against the wall and then dragged me up onto the ceiling. I didn't know what to do, but I thought maybe that if I could get the journal open…I don't know, maybe Dean could read the rest. So, I did that and I guess Dean got it 'cause that's what happened. He somehow managed to finish the exorcism even though the demon was choking him. It even transformed back into your mom and then into you, but the eyes… Weird thing was, when Dean saw it become you, he got this big smile on his face." she shakes her head, "Then, I fell."

"He figured it out." I realize, "He knew I wasn't dead."

"Guess so." Lindy agrees.

"Hey, we both owe you, Lindy." I tell her. If she hadn't thought to open the journal, remind Dean that it was a demon they were facing, who knows what might have happened. Who knows how much longer I could have taken the accusations without eventually believing them. Because I don't, do I? Wait, I'm not thinking about that. I force my attention away from my memories and back to Lindy, "How's your head?"

She smiles, "Hurts."

I make a quick decision in an attempt to both make her feel better and take care of Dean, "I was thinking that maybe we should crash here for a few more days until Dean looks less like hell. You staying?"

She sends me a supremely appreciative and relieved look, "Well, I sure don't feel like driving just yet."

"Cool." I agree.

Before either of us can say anything else, a rough and scratchy version of Dean's voice penetrates the room, "Sam!"

"Yeah, Dean?" I call back.

Dean stumbles into sight, still just dressed in a shirt and boxer shorts. He looks in desperate need of a shower.

"What the hell you doing with my girl?" he asks, absently scratching his head, his eyes still half-closed.

I laugh to myself at Dean's behavior, glancing at Lindy to see her reaction. She looks kind of stunned, but quickly recovers, an aggravated look taking over her features, "Who said I was your girl?"

Dean smiles that self-assured smile of his, "Oh, you did, babe. You're definitely a Dean girl."

"Should I be offended?" she asks me, "What does that mean?"

I shrug, not willing to get drawn into that conversation. Still, I'm secretly pleased that Dean and Lindy are hitting it off. I like Lindy. I haven't known her long but she clearly has a good soul and the kind of courage required to hang out with a Winchester. In my mind, she seems like the perfect girl for my brother. And who knows, maybe with a girl around, he'll stop flirting with everything and embarrassing the hell out of me.

"Hey, Sam, why don't you go get us some coffee or something." Dean phrases it like a question, but there's no mistaking it as a classic 'beat it' line. I roll my eyes to myself. Even though my insides are still upside down and inside out after the hell with that demon, Dean is still the same. That's comforting at least.

"Keys?" I ask.

Dean gestures with his head back into our room, "In my pants. Hey, gas up the Impala, too, while you're out."

I don't say anything, just get to my feet and head back into our room to get the keys. Truthfully, my mind has already regressed to those thoughts that I have been trying so hard not to think. It's like the second I stop focusing all my attention on something else, my brain resets to what happened last night. It wasn't my mom, it wasn't Jessica, I know that. It was a fear demon that was trying to mess with my head. But all the accusations it flung at me had come from somewhere in my own mind. And now that they've been dragged to the forefront of my consciousness, I can't seem to bury them again. But I can't let Dean know. No, that's priority number one right now. Dean must not know that I'm thinking about the possibility that I'm responsible for everything bad that has happened to our family and that maybe it's because I'm a curse, something evil. He'd beat the crap out of me if he knew regardless of the fact that we're not kids anymore.

I exit the hotel room and climb into Dean's car. I shut the door and wrap both hands around the wheel. I put the keys in the ignition and turn the car on. Dean's music blares out of the speakers, so I quickly turn down the volume. Even at its loudest, Dean's music can't drown out the sound of my mom's voice saying I'm not her son and the demon that killed her claiming me as his own.

I make it out of the parking lot and about five minutes down the road before I have to pull over. It's so easy to seem okay when there's someone else to reassure, but now, by myself, I feel like I have to scream or cry or something. I wonder for a crazed moment if I'm still in the demon's trap, if this is just another deranged scenario meant to break me. How could I tell?

I throw the door open and jump out of the car, pacing next to it on the all but deserted highway. All I've been able to think about these past couple months is revenge, for my mom and for Jess. But what if I get what I think I want? What if we somehow manage to kill the demon and nothing changes? What if it's revenge against myself I'm really seeking?

I yell wordlessly in frustration and almost forget myself enough to punch Dean's car, but even in my current mental state I know that I can't hurt Dean's baby. So, I whirl away from the car, stomping furiously at the dirt under my feet. There's no answer to this. There's no way for me to come to grips with this. There's just no way.

I don't feel evil. I try to do good every day. I try to help people. And yet I killed my mom and the woman I loved, setting what remains of my family on a quest for revenge that will almost certainly end in their deaths, as well.

I can almost hear Dean arguing with me. 'Sam, you were just a baby. No matter what kind of super psychic abilities you might have, you couldn't have saved Mom and you are not responsible. Evil demons attack and kill people. That's what they do. You didn't create the demon. You didn't ask for it to take Mom and Jess.'

No, but I'm the common denominator. If I hadn't been tied to both of them, they'd still be alive.

'Get over yourself, Sam. This demon has killed a lot of other people who you've had nothing to do with. Not everything is about you.'

No, not everything. But this is.

'Sam, I changed your diapers. That's the most evil you've ever been. Stop thinking like this before I kick your ass!'

Sorry, Dean. I can't.

My back hits the side of the Impala as I sink to the ground. The tears I'd hidden from my brother last night spring back to my eyes. I wipe at them frantically with my hands, but I can't stop the flow. I feel disgusted with myself, but I feel like everything is out of my hands, like I'm just a pawn in something bigger that I can't control. I hate the feeling and I hate that I can't fight this. I need something I can fight.

I stiffen and the tears stop. I wonder what the chances are of me finding someone drunk enough to fight me for no good reason. Then, I laugh at myself for being an idiot. It's not like I can join a fight club or something. I should just shove all this as far out of my mind as possible and take this out on the next bad thing that dares to draw the attention of the Winchesters. I should take it all out on the damn demon that killed Mom and Jess. Then, at least maybe the accusations will quiet because it won't be around to voice them. Then, maybe Dean and Dad will stop looking for things that will gladly end their lives and I won't have to worry about them anymore.

I shake my head at myself. I don't really believe Dad and Dean will stop hunting. Dean and I were raised to hunt and it's all Dad knows how to do anymore. No, they won't stop until they're forced to. Just like the things they hunt.

My cell phone rings. I curse mentally and force myself to take a few deep breathes and calm down before I answer.

"Hey, Sammy, Lindy was wondering if you could get her some girlie drink, what was it? Ow! Hey, don't hit. A chai tea. She claims it was on the menu." Dean's upbeat voice makes my dark thoughts stand out in contrast.

"Uh…yeah, sure." I say, praying that Dean won't pick up on anything in my voice.

Unfortunately, my brother knows me too well, "Sam, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I lie.

Dean's quiet for a moment and I'm almost certain he's not buying it. I hold my breath and wait for him to say something.

"If you say so, Sammy." he says slowly, "Hurry up, will you?"

I let my breath out, thankful that Dean's let this slide, at least for now, "Yeah, I'm going. Bye, Dean."

"Bye."

I hang up and after a brief pause to collect myself a little more, I get up. I walk around the car and get back in. I even manage to drive all the way to the local diner to get coffee and tea and back to the motel again without thinking anything beyond how to function. Maybe I can relegate future consideration about my responsibility in my loved ones' deaths and what that says about me to those sleepless nights like before. As long as I can find a way to keep anyone else from knowing about this and keep it from interfering with what we do. I've accepted that it won't go away, that I believe it too much. But as long as I can keep it inside everything will be okay.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Well, this is the final chapter. It was a pleasure writing this story and I hope you all enjoyed reading it. Please still feel free to let me know if there is anything you think could use improving. And, as always, I love to know when you like things the way they are, too. Please review. It keeps this little author's creative juices flowing and inspires new fics. Thanks to all you guys who've stuck with this one. 'Till next time.

I smile at Dean where he stands, still leaning against the door frame. His neck is the same dark purple that I'm sure mine is, but his eyes are bright and he doesn't act like he even notices the injury. I bet this is all just a part of a day's work for him. But what surprises me even more than Dean's nonchalance is Sam. He seemed okay, but I can't help but feel that he's putting on an act. No one could be okay after what he must have gone through. Just the short time Dean and I were with the demon was hell. I can't imagine the hours Sam was trapped with it. I wonder if maybe I should bring up my concern with Dean. I'm sure he's worried about him, too, judging from the way he frowned with concern while he talked to Sam on the phone, asked him what was wrong.

"Alright," Dean says suddenly, moving from his spot and approaching my bed, "Move over."

"What?" I protest, knowing that my current spot is one of the few that is actually comfortable on this crappy mattress.

"Come on, let me sit down." Dean continues, sitting next to me and nudging me over.

I wrinkle my nose at him, "Eww, you need a shower."

"Hey, you're no bed of roses yourself." Dean replies and I realize that he's right. I'm still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Dean continues, raising an eyebrow, "I wouldn't mind sharing a shower, though."

I can't help but blush at his blatant suggestion, but I also can't deny that I actually wouldn't mind. I mean, even dirty and smelly, he's cute as hell. Dean chuckles and I wonder in a flash of horror if he knows what I'm thinking. I decide quickly to change the subject and hopefully distract him from any other embarrassing insights.

"So, Sam and I were thinking about maybe crashing here for a few days. Sound good to you?" I ask.

"Why not?" he shrugs, "Besides, I've got to make sure that story of yours is as flattering as possible."

I sit up a little straighter at the reminder of my whole reason for being here. Amazingly, I'd almost forgotten about that. I hadn't even taken my camera with me when we'd gone back for Sam. Rescuing him had just been more important and my story hadn't even crossed my mind. But now I should be working on that, not drooling over Dean. But damn is it easier to sit here and stare at him than work on my story. Dean Winchester must be the definition of the word distraction. Still, I'm a reporter and I do have a deadline approaching.

"About that, will you be my hero and get me my laptop?" I ask as sweetly as I can.

Dean heaves an extravagant sigh before getting back up, "Where is it?"

"My car." I say cheerfully, happy that I don't have to get up yet. I fish in my pockets and locate my keys, tossing them to Dean. While he's gone, my mind turns back to the events that have lead to this unlikely conclusion. Everything feels kind of different now somehow. Or maybe I'm different. It's hard to know, but I feel like maybe that close call has changed things in my life. With that thought in mind, I dig in my pocket again and this time I pull out my cell phone. I hit the speed dial for a number I haven't called in some time. The phone rings five times before the answering machine picks up. I don't know why I'm surprised since I haven't been on speaking terms with my mother for a long time now. That tends to happen when your mother disowns you. I wonder what it was exactly that pushed Mom over the edge. I know it all started after Dad died. Maybe it was when I decided to go away to school and to pay my own way by working as a bartender instead of asking Mom for help. What a disgrace I'd been to the family then. Or maybe it was when I graduated and told Mom I would be taking a job at Paranormal Monthly. Or maybe it was when we'd gotten in that huge fight and I'd accidentally said that I wished Mom had died instead of Dad. I hadn't meant it, not really. But it was said and I could never take it back. The beep of the answering machine startles me, "Oh…uh…hi, Mom. It's me, Lindy. I…uh…just wanted to say that, well, I'm okay. I…I hope that you're okay, too." I pause, wondering if I can make myself say something like 'I miss you' or 'I love you.' I can't seem to get either of those things out, so instead I say, "I guess that's it. Uh…bye."

The timing seems to work, too, since Deans walks in just as I'm saying bye and hanging up.

"Who's that?" he asks, plopping back down on the bed next to me and setting my computer on my lap.

"Nobody. Just left a message." I reply, setting the phone down on the nightstand next to Dean's weapons. I suddenly feel like I need a little distance so that I can clear my head a little bit. I slide out from under the covers and the laptop weighing me down, standing up, "I think I'll take a shower now."

"Your shower or mine?" Dean quips.

I don't reply because I honestly don't know what to say. I just don't feel like witty banter at this exact moment. The levity of what has happened has just started to really sink in so now I feel too serious and I'm too busy wondering what it would be like if someone had called my mom for me to say that I'd been found mysteriously dead in the middle of some ghost town. Would she even come to the funeral?

I jump when Dean appears in front of me, realizing that I've been staring at a spot on the ground. His hand on my arm is warm and comforting and when I look up at him, his eyes hold real concern. Funny that a guy I met in a bar a couple of days ago seems to care about me more than my own family.

"Tell me what's wrong." he says.

I shake my head. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to have some kind of stupid emotional talk where I end up crying and he ends up trying to reassure me while feeling extremely awkward. None of that will change anything or make me feel any better. No, what I want is to get over it and move on to better things. And who better to help me than Mr. Distraction himself?

So, I reach up and fist my hands in the collar of his shirt, pulling him down towards me. Dean looks a little confused, but he definitely doesn't fight me when I press my lips against his. In fact, it only takes a second for him to respond and deepen the kiss, mercifully forcing all coherent thoughts from my brain. Slowly, we pull apart.

"Wow." escapes my lips.

Dean grins, "Thanks."

I think briefly about what to do now, but only one thing seems very appealing. Besides, my hands are still fisted in his shirt, giving me the leverage to pull him back to me again. So, I do, possibly the best idea I've ever had.

"Don't you have a story to write?" Dean asks around kisses.

"Mmm…this is better." I admit.

"And your shower?"

"Later."

"But I thought I smelled?"

I pause to glare at him, "Don't you ever shut up?"

Dean just shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself. But I don't care because with a face like that he could get away with murder in my book. And to top it all off, I'm suddenly feeling a little reckless because we could've died last night, but we didn't. That's a heady sensation and it makes my silly embarrassment and hesitation about Dean seem absolutely ridiculous. It makes me want to just forget it all and do what I've been thinking about doing since I spotted this 'hot hillbilly' in the bar.

I press another kiss against Dean's mouth, my hands lifting to his face. As I pull away, I back slowly towards my shitty mattress, my hands lingering on Dean's face until he's at arm's length, silently asking him to follow me. But I freeze at the look on Dean's face. He looks physically pained.

"Oh, god, Lindy." he groans, "You have no idea how much I want to continue this…"

"But." I supply, frowning.

"But," he agrees, "I'm leaving in a couple days. Now normally that wouldn't stop me, but…well, I like you and…"

I let myself flop down on the edge of my bed, crossing my arms across my chest, "And you don't want to love and leave a nice girl like me."

"Something like that." he nods.

I shake my head, laughing to myself at the stupid irony of it all. I glance up at Dean, "Well, Dean, how incredibly girly of you." Dean does a double take at that comment. Now, I laugh at him as I get up and push past him, "Guess I'll go take that shower now."

I'm disappointed, what can I say, but I feel a little better about everything when I hear Dean cursing himself under his breath before I close the bathroom door. I suppose I should be happy that he actually cares about my feelings. And I guess in the long run, I'll be glad of that, but still. How many guys that hot can I actually expect to come across in my line of work? And how many of those theoretical hot guys might I actually fall for? Because it's more than just physical attraction. I wouldn't have stuck around through all this if it was just that. I really care about Dean. I almost want to just drop everything and follow him wherever he goes. I mean, I report on what he hunts after all. It could work. I smirk at myself in the mirror. At least until he files a restraining order.

I carefully undress, trying not to aggravate my sore muscles. Being thrown into walls is just not good for a person. I'm just about to turn on the water and step into the shower when Dean's voice reaches me through the near paper-thin walls of this five-star establishment.

"Hey, Dad. Just wanted to let you know that Sammy's okay. Wish you would have called me back, though. Well, call me if you can. Anytime, okay? It'd be nice to know you're okay. Well, bye."

I feel bad for eavesdropping, but my reporter instincts start drawing conclusions from the conversation almost automatically. Here I am feeling sorry for myself because my mom won't answer my calls, Sam and Dean's Dad never even called them back when Dean told him that Sam was in trouble. What's going on there? Something big is up with these guys that they're not telling me. Maybe they still don't trust me or maybe they're trying to protect me or something. Either way, I still want to know what it is. If Sam and Dean are in trouble, I want to know what it is 'cause frankly I'm already pretty damned attached to them. I guess near-death experiences with demons will do that. But how to ask them about this?

I turn the water on and step into the shower, mind still buzzing. Here I'd thought this was all over, but maybe this was just a stop along the journey to something bigger for the Winchesters. Maybe that's why Dean's so against getting involved, why he thinks he has to leave me. I already don't like whatever this possible thing is.

I take a quick shower because my mind is too preoccupied to enjoy the experience. Unfortunately, now that I'm clean, I don't particularly want to put my dirty, sweaty clothes from yesterday back on. And I also don't really want to walk out there in a towel with Dean around, not after what just happened and the decision he's just made about us. Should I just ask him to get me some clothes? Let a boy pick my outfit, probably a bad idea. Man, this is really frustrating my plan to interrogate Dean about what he's not telling me.

The sound of a door closing alerts me to Sam's return, so I pause in my mental quest to find a way to get my clothes.

"Here's the stuff you wanted." Sam announces.

"Thanks, Sam." Dean says, "Now why don't you tell me what the hell's the matter."

Any ideas I might have had about not listening in to the rest of this conversation vanish.

"What are you talking about?"

"Something's up with you. Is it about that demon?"

"Dean, just leave me alone, okay?"

"No way, Sam. You've been dodging me about this since that thing with Bloody Mary. I know this is about how you feel responsible for Mom and Jessica's deaths. I also know that you're an idiot for thinking that, but apparently you're dumber than I thought."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"I don't care, Sam. You barely sleep and you barely eat as it is. If this demon has made you worse…"

"Dean!" Sam yells, making me take a step back from where I'm leaning against the door in surprise, "Stop."

"What do you want me to do, Sam? Sit by and watch this eat you alive? It wasn't your fault!" Dean snaps.

"How do you know?" Sam snaps back, "What do you know about it?"

"Well, why don't you tell me?"

"No! Leave me alone!"

"Damn it, Sammy…"

"Don't call me Sammy! I'm not a kid anymore, Dean!"

"Well, you're sure acting like one! Just tell me!"

There's silence for a minute that makes me itch with suspense. I wish I could see what's going on. Finally, Sam speaks again, but his voice is so quiet I almost can't hear him, "Dean, I can't. If I told you…well, that's just not an option for me right now, okay? I just need you to let this go."

"How can I let this go when you're letting it kill you?" Dean demands.

"It's not." Sam says and my gut screams at me that he's lying, "I'll be okay. I just…I need to focus on finding Dad and the demon."

"But Sam…"

"No, Dean. We can't talk about this anymore." Sam says with finality.

I hear Dean sigh in frustration, but he doesn't push it anymore. Maybe he's just biding his time, waiting for a better opportunity to call Sam on this. That's what I'd do. After an awkward moment of silence in which I wonder if I should do something, like remind them of my presence, Sam speaks.

"So, where's Lindy?" the mention of my name makes me think that I shouldn't magically appear. That would be too suspicious. They'd know I'm listening. So, I wait a little longer.

"Taking a shower." Dean replies.

"Oh." Sam says, "So, what are you going to do about her?"

Okay, I'd be crazy not to listen to this.

"What do you mean?" Dean says and I silently accuse him of hedging.

"I mean, you like her, right?"

Say yes, you're madly in love with me, I plead silently.

Dean sighs again, "Why don't you mind your own business, Sam?"

"Me? What about you butting in about Sarah the whole time we were there?"

"That was different. You needed to get laid. Still do, come to think of it."

"Yeah, well, you need to be in an actual relationship, Dean. With a nice girl who you don't have to lie to and you don't have to leave."

"Gee, thanks, Dr. Phil."

"I'm serious, Dean."

"What makes you think we don't have to leave her, Sammy? She's a reporter, not a hunter. She doesn't belong with us. It's too dangerous."

"She handled herself okay last night. Saved us, in fact."

Sam, you're an angel. I write a mental note to myself to hug Sam later.

"Sam, you know what I'm talking about. There's worse things out there that we have a habit of getting involved with."

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't know that whenever women get close to a Winchester, they end up dead?"

"Well, if you know that, then why the hell are you pushing this?"

"Because the track record has got to be broken. I want to believe that we can change that and that none of us have to be alone our whole lives. Is that what you want, Dean? Just you, me and Dad until we die?" Sam sounds in earnest, like he desperately needs Dean to prove to him that something else is possible.

"I'd be happy if I could trust that I'll have that much." Dean replies bitterly, "No, this is not a discussion I'm having."

"Besides, I don't think it's you the demon…" Sam begins.

"Hey! Don't you dare push me about this after you refused to talk to me about your problems. Until that demon is dust, the whole relationships and normal life stuff is not an option for me."

So that's it. I back up and sit down on the toilet seat. Dean's afraid to let anyone get to close because of what happened to his mom and whoever this Jessica girl is (I'm guessing someone Sam was pretty close to). I realize that the demon figure with the glowing eyes must be the demon that killed Dean's mom and that what it made us think happened to Sam must have been what happened to her. I remember being dragged across the ceiling, knowing what the demon had just done to Sam and I have to admit that I'm afraid of that. And yet, despite that fear, I still have feelings for Dean that won't be ignored. I was afraid of that fear demon last night, too, but I didn't leave him and everything turned out okay.

I can't sit in here any longer. So, I get up and unlock the door, peeking my head around it just a little bit, "Hey, guys? Can I have some clothes please?"

Both boys seem surprised by my voice, like they had forgotten I'm so close by. Then, they both start looking around for my clothes. I reach my hand out and gesture at my bag on the floor. Sam's closest, so he grabs it and hands it to me.

"Thanks." I say before quickly pulling the bag in and closing the door again.

I dress and brush my teeth and my hair before I make my appearance in the room. Sam and Dean have been fairly silent the whole time I've been doing this. When I emerge from the bathroom, I notice Sam has retreated through the adjoining door to their room and that Dean is missing. I gingerly approach Sam, afraid to do or say something stupid that will upset him.

"You're tea's on top of the TV and there's some bagels." Sam says.

"Thanks." I say, but I don't make a move to get them. Instead, I stand awkwardly near Sam, trying to think of something to say. He looks up at me questioningly, so I just spill my guts, "Sam, you guys only just met me and I know we went through this crazy stuff together and all, but…why do you like me?"

Sam smiles a little bit at my outburst, looking the most at ease I've seen him since before we entered Fort Tucker. He shrugs a little, "You like my brother enough to get strangled. And you let me drive your car. Oh, and you bought us a couple of meals yesterday. Plus, you saved my life."

"So, do you trust me?"

He's still smiling, which I take to be a good sign, "Yeah, I trust you, Lindy."

"And do you..." I lower my voice because I know how easy it is to hear through the bathroom walls, "do you think Dean and I might actually work?"

"He's an idiot, but if he were to ever be serious about a girl…well, I think you make more sense than anyone and I know he likes you."

I can't stop myself from hugging him. Besides, I owed him one from earlier.

"Thanks, Sam." I tell him.

I want to say that I don't believe he's responsible for anyone's deaths. I want to tell him that he's too great a guy for that to be true, but I feel that it's not my place, so I keep it to myself.

"I'm gone for five minutes and you try to steal my girl?"

I immediately release Sam from the hug and turn to see Dean standing in the doorway of the bathroom in clean clothes with damp hair. He's acting like nothing's happened, like everything's normal. I decide to play along with that since it's more pleasant anyway.

"Well, Sam is pretty cute…" I tease, putting on a thoughtful look.

"But absolutely no fun." Dean finishes for me.

He strides over and plants a quick kiss on my lips before moving to grab coffee and a bagel. I almost sigh at how relaxed and familiar that kiss felt. I could almost pretend we're a girlfriend and boyfriend or something. But definitions are too troublesome, so I just let it be what it is.

The next couple days go by in a bit of a blur. All of us play at everything being fine, none of us letting things get too serious. An unspoken agreement seems to hang between the three of us not to call any of the others on it, so we don't. I finish writing my article, finally, after only getting sidetracked a few times. One of which being when Dean caught me writing some extracurricular stuff. I was typing away and the clicking of the keys filled my ears, making me oblivious to his stealthy approach. It wasn't until he was standing behind me, looking curiously over my shoulder, that he announced his presence.

"What you writing?"

I jumped and immediately closed my laptop to prevent him from reading any further, but I already felt like I'd been caught red-handed.

"Holy shit, Dean! Don't do that!"

"What was that?" Dean continued, ignoring my admonishment.

"Nothing." I lied, but it had to be obvious by the way I was avoiding the topic that it was something.

"I saw my name, Lindy. You promised you'd keep our names out of the article." Dean accused, eyes narrowing suspiciously at my nervous behavior.

"That wasn't my article." I told him, blinking a few times in surprise at the accusation.

"Then, what was it?" Dean asked, clearly expecting a bullshit answer.

I looked down, a faint redness coming to my cheeks, "A story."

Dean opened his mouth to undoubtedly resume his accusations, but I forged onward, expecting this, "Not that kind of story. Like a _story_."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, frowning in confusion.

I continued to stare down at the comforter, picking at a loose thread, "I wrote a story about you and Sam from the Impala's point of view."

"What?"

"Nevermind!" I snapped, immediately defensive, "It wasn't my article, that's all that matters."

Deans waited a few beats before broaching the silence, carefully venturing back to the topic, "Can I read it?"

A large mischievous grin slowly spread across his face. That grin worried me, so of course I immediately denied the request, "No way!"

"Ah, come on. It's my car. I know her better than anybody. Let me read it."

He'd pouted and complained until I'd finally given in, which had been an entirely bad move on my part. Now, even days later, there was no living down the fact that I'd indulged in a little drabble about how the car might feel about hauling two hot guys around, one of whom is obsessed about it. At least my article didn't meet with such mockery. Sam and Dean both seemed to approve of it, and I did leave their identities completely out of it, just like I'd promised. So, I e-mailed a copy to my boss and he replied very favorably. He thought it was excellent, just what the magazine needed. I was even getting another assignment. Which meant it was time to say goodbye because Sam and Dean had an assignment of their own that was taking them elsewhere.

"You know, I could probably tag along with you guys instead. I'm sure my boss would still be happy." I point out to Dean as we stand by the cars.

Dean shakes his head, smiling sadly.

"Much as I'd love to keep you along, I think it's probably a good idea for you to take your story and let us handle this."

"Is it about the demon?" I ask, the first I've said about the demon that I know they're after.

Dean looks surprised, "Yeah. I think it is. Hey, how did…?"

"I'm a serial eavesdropper." I confess with a guilty smile, hoping he won't hold it against me, "I've tried to quit, but I keep falling off the wagon."

"So, you're a reporter, a rookie demon fighter, and a spy." Dean remarks, "I should marry you."

"Now, Dean. That would require commitment." I point out, keeping my tone teasing. Dean nods, his smile a little sadder now. I'm not mad or anything. I get that he's got this important job to do that is too dangerous for him to let me in right now. I understand, really I do. But that doesn't mean I don't wish things could be different. Maybe someday things will be, "Look me up when all that's over?"

"Definitely." Dean agrees, "Hey, let me give you my number in case…I don't know, in case you need anything."

I pull out my phone and program in the number that Dean dictates to me. I can almost feel our time drawing to a close. Sam's coming out of the room with the last of their stuff, loading it in their car. I feel like I need to say something quickly to make sure that Dean knows how I feel about him, but I'm not sure what to say. I don't want to be all girly and stupid about this.

"Oh!" Dean says suddenly, moving towards Sam and taking one of the bags from his hands. He opens it as he returns to me, "I noticed you put these in my bag."

He pulls out the two daggers and the gun he'd lent to me and the next thing I know, he's putting them in my hands.

"I want you to keep these." he says, "You might need them."

"But…" I start to protest.

"Hey, I didn't spend all that time teaching you to use them just so you can get rusty again." he says.

I shake my head, not sure what to say, but I put the weapons in my car. I'll have to find a place to hide them, just in case I get pulled over or something, but I have to admit that I do feel a little better about having them. Just in case I run into something real. As soon as my hands are free again, I turn back to Dean.

"Dean, I…" I try to begin.

He cuts me off by pulling me into a kiss. I let him because I still don't really know what to say and he's a really good kisser.

"I don't really do goodbyes." he says when he pulls away from me.

"Well, just be careful, then. You'd better answer when I call you." I threaten, feeling slightly sick inside at the idea of something happening to him.

"I never miss a call from a pretty girl." Dean promises, grin back in place.

I just stare at him, silently praying to whatever higher powers there may be to look out for him and his family. Sam clears his throat pointedly, causing Dean to glance his way.

"Well, I have to go." he says.

"Yeah." I nod.

"Take care of yourself."

"You, too."

He starts backing away, moving around his car to the driver's side. I think about running after him, maybe just to kiss him one more time, but I don't. That's not the kind of goodbye I want. I want him to remember me as the cool, strong girl that can handle being with him and being without him. So, I just wave, at him and at Sam. Sam waves back.

"Bye, Lindy." he says, as he climbs in the passenger seat.

"Bye, Sam." I reply.

I let my hand fall back to my side and just stand and watch as Dean gets in and starts the engine. I can hear the boys talking as he backs the car out.

"Dude, did you just give her your phone number?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Nothing. It's just…I've never seen you give a girl _your_ phone number before."

"Shut up, Sam."

"You must really like her."

"Hope you do, too, 'cause I gave her your gun."

"What?"

The rest of the discussion is lost to classic rock guitars and the roar of Dean's engine. I smile to myself. It's not a happy ending. Not for any of us. But it'll do for now.


End file.
